The Art of Being Okay
by Killerturtles
Summary: The one where Jack writes and smiles and starves; but it's okay because he's fine. Warnings for mental illnesses / eating disorders. Human!AU. Writer!Jack. Modern day, New York setting with Guardian and Rise as organizations for supporting writers and artists from impoverished families - families like the Bennetts.
1. Prologue

**A/N: briefly, letting you guys know this will deal with an eating disorder, so be warned. Second, I was debating posting it because it, however accidentally, became very therapeutic in helping me deal with a long-time best friends extended stay in the hospital b/c of anorexia nervosa. But I would really like to improve my writing and maybe get some feedback so I posted it anyway. *deep breath***

**Second, this is AU, but I've tried to keep the same dynamic and sort of (?) feel of the movie. Please let me know if this worked/didn't?**

**Profiles: Psychologists**

_Dr. Lawrence Homes._

_Dr. Lawrence Holmes has been a psychologist for seventeen years. He was born and raised in England, but moved to America for higher education and PhD. He was first employed in a treatment facility for anorexic patients, but is now employed in the mental health division at Mercy Hospital._

_Dr. Holmes specializes with teens, and_

Flip.

_Dr. Connie O'Brian_

_Dr. Brian is a competent elderly woman from Texas. She entered a nursing program and, upon failing to find work, defaulted into child psychology. Dr. Brian is seventy-four years old and currently employed at Mercy Hospital._

Flip.

_Dr. Wendy Bennett_

_Single mother Dr. Bennett is an ambitious young woman born and living in New York. Despite her younger age, Dr. Bennett has quite the success rate with her in-patient work at Psyche Ward of Mercy Hospital psychologist._

_Even with her stellar inpatient program, Dr. Bennett specializes in outpatient work_

Jack tossed the packet back at the sighing nurse.

"I'll take Bennett."

The nurse starts and catches it. "Now, Mr. Frost, there are many other more qualified doctors, if you'd care to look over the rest of the packet."

Jack smirks and opens his mouth. He racks his brain for something to say, but at this point, it can hardly be considered racking. Thinking is more of painstakingly forcing his way through thick syrupy molasses these days. Drugs, Jack decides. Drugs'll do this to you.

"Don't care," He eventually decides on. "I'll do outpatient with Dr. Bennett.

"Mr. Frost," the nurse objects, nostrils flaring, "you are in no position to do outpatient with anyone right now. You are incredibly sick, you understand? The importance of seeing a good psychologist – and a nutritionist and possibly even a psychiatrist – is just a part of this. It is your second visit this month, young man!"

It's funny how the nurse is yelling at him … wants him to get better … it's funny … Jack can't really coherently string together why it's funny, but he knows it is. There isn't much in life that isn't, if you just look at it from the point of view of a depressed, upside-down, Mexican Jumping Bean.

"Look, I wasn't trying to kill myself or anything –"

"Frost, you unstable and out of control. Your friends were right to be concerned."

Jack pushes the 'help' button on the side of the hospital bed. He knows where it is from last time. Curiously, he wonders if he's in the same bed, or if hospital beds are just all the same. They're probably all just the same; real life is boring like that and lacks a proper sense of dramatic irony.

Within seconds, multiple worried nurses are in his room, asking what's wrong.

Jack grins at them all, takes a deep, painful breath, and cheerfully points at the busybody nurse previously attending him. "Can somebody get her the out of here, please and thank you? Now?"

Disgruntled, the rude nurse leaves, fuming. A new nurse steps up to take her place and the rest leave after the grouchy woman.

"Now, Mr., what can_ I_ do for _you_?" A thin, brown haired man with emo bangs and an awful bedside manner bends over him, hideous glasses slipping slightly down the nurse's nose.

"Stop treating me like a retarded child?" Jack quirked. He was glad the words were coming again, because that meant he was fine. Jack will be fine if he can speak, if he can write again. Jack is always fine.

Vaguely, he remembers, with a detached sense of urgency, he was supposed to be penning another novel for Guardian right then but –

"Mr. Frost? What are you talking about?"

Oh. He'd been talking out loud. "Guardian is a – how have you not heard of Guardian? They've only been all over the news for the last two months!"

"I find myself unable to find the time to read."

Jack's fingers twitch over the help button.

"So," the man carried on the same overly peppy, condescending tone, apparently oblivious, "have we picked ourselves out a _psychologist_ yet?" He whispers the word psychologist like it's a dirty word, somehow, or like Jack is a child, unable to understand.

Jack pushes the button.

_Idiot_.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

Outside and unbeknownst to Jack, a small group had congealed in the corridor outside the hospital.

Tooth is crying silently, hearing 50% whispered again and again in her head and North is rubbing her back. Bunnymund is – there is really no other word for it – thumping his foot against the wall.

There is energy threaded with pain that is thrumming through his body and the incessant, harsh tapping of his feet is Bunnymund's only release.

And either that was slightly sexual or Freud was onto something.

Because Jack is still on the IV drip in his hospital room, there isn't anyone there to tell Bunnymund that his 'bunny' is showing.

It's a new feeling, being upset that no one is mocking you.

"Fool better pull through this," Bunnymund is mumbling. "Hear that, ya gumbie?" He tells the wall intelligently. "Pull fucking through!" He calls in the direction of Jack's room.

"Why does he have to do this?" Tooth finds herself asking bitterly. "Why can't he just be okay?" But the way she says it isn't selfish or accusing, but plaintive, and hopeful.

No one quite knows what to say because sometimes there isn't anything to say. Sandy's good at the not talking thing.

Instead, Sandy pushes himself off the wall and holds up a sign that says:

_life is not a fairytale toothiana_.

"It's just, after everything. It was all going to be okay. You were fine, Sandy, Jack was fine. Two weeks ago, Jack was fine!" Tooth can't help but argue, still ignoring the evidence.

"I do not think Jack has ever really been okay, Toothie," The thumping stops as North quietly contributes.

"How did we not catch it?" Tooth breaths out. "Again?"

Bunnymund snaps. " Would ya stop askin' questions? Ya think we don't already wonder or we're not asking these bloody questions to ourselves every night? That's it. 'M done here."

"Bunny …" Tooth's voice trails after him and her face looks even more miserable than before.

"Come on Tooth. You know the drill." The pain of there being a drill, and North knowing it, shows clearly on his face as he tries to comfort Tooth. "No visitations for at least twenty-four hours. Let's go home." North gently guides away while Sandy just looks on melancholy, drifting after North.

Babytooth shows up at midnight and sneaks into Jack's hospital room.

Jack yells and pushes his button and tells her to fuck the hell off.

Babytooth doesn't cry until he calls her Avery.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

Finally, the next day, Dr. Bennett shows up.

"Jack fucking Frost." The petite, exhausted looking blond woman in a business suit and a bun swears him out. Jack's sure his mouth is hanging open. "I'll be damned."

"Can I record you saying that?" Nerves melt off Jack's face into gleeful anticipation.

Dr. Bennett snaps around, and stares at him. "Listen, boy. My son loves you. He looks up to you. Hell, to him, you're _God_. And I love my son more than anything and that's the first thing you've got to get through that starved brain of yours. Actions have consequences. And not just for you. How do you think this is going to look for your fans?"

"I don't care! Everything – it's not about me, you see? Her. It's always her."

"Who?"

Jack doesn't speak.

"You want to get better, you're going to have to work with me."

Resolutely, Jack disagrees. He would cross his arms if it wouldn't send the BP machine into a tizzy. "I don't need to get better; I'm fine."

"Yeah, and there's a name psychologists have for when a patient is fine: denial. And everyone knows alright is Time Lord speak for really, really not alright. You may have started out fine – I doubt it, but it's possible – but you're not now. You think you have control, but this thing, this disease, it controls you. Jack, do you think this is control? Whatever line you've drawn up, don't you think this is miles past it?"

The "I'm fine" comes out weaker this time.

"If you aren't going to work with me, I'm going to leave."

With a pang, Jack realizes he doesn't want her to, because the things she is saying about control are starting to make an alarming amount of sense. And with – Jack winces – things the way they are …

"No, wait."

Dr. Bennett sighs. "You need help. Talk to me. We'll start from the beginning."

Jack swallows. He did not want to talk about the beginning. He didn't even want to think about the beginning.

"My sister … Pippa … she … died." There. Done. The beginning.

"That's not the beginning."

Jack sputtered. "You want to know why I'm here, right?"

When Dr. Bennett crosses her arms, it isn't anything like when Jack crosses his. Dr. Bennett's arms scowled and growled at you, strictly informed you that they expected better. Jack's arm crosses are always on the defensive, protective. He doubts Dr. Bennett's ever are.

"I want to know how you ended up here the first time. I want to know how you ended up here the second time. These are true. But more than that, I want to know why you thought it was such a great idea to start killing yourself in the first place. Don't think I'm going to get that – whaddya say, Jack, why'd you do it?" Jack doesn't respond, marshaling his arguments and thoughts. "Exactly. So I'll settle, instead, for what happened this summer." Dr. Bennett's voice sounds fairly exasperated near the end, until she pauses pensively, and continues on in a softer tone. "Why don't we start with Guardian?"

Jack doesn't speak for a while. Finally, he looks up at Dr. Bennett and the other shoe drops. "Jamie … Bennett. You're Jamie Bennett's mother."

She nods, unsurprised at the time it took him to piece it together.

There is complete silence for almost ten minutes, before Dr. Bennett looks up at Jack. "Talk, Jack. I'm listening." As she is saying that, Jack is wondering how it took him so long to cotton on to the fact that she was a mother.

It's this, over everything else that has been said to him, that implores Jack the most. It's probably because Jack could never remember his mother. "I don't think I can." It's the most honest thing Jack has says in this hospital, and he says it slowly (he says most things slowly, now).

"Then write," Dr. Bennett tells him.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

The next session, they don't talk, but Jack hands her several pieces of paper with a sticky note on top.

_I took some artistic liberties with Jamie and you. We talk a lot, you know. You're a great mom._

Is what is says in Jack's careful, messy scrawl.

**A/N: thanks for reading, obviously later chapters will sort of be detailing what brought us to this point. I'd love a beta reader for the second half of this. No pairing as of yet so let me know what, if anything, you're feeling. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Wikipedia: Guardians**

_Guardians is a program for aspiring, young writers, founded in 1970 by Mr. Moon. The original purpose of Guardians was to support young screen writers living in Canada where the enigmatic man grew up and got his start, but has now expanded to include journalism, fiction, children's books, and poetry. Its purpose is stated on their webpage:_

**_"To help impoverished children, to open their eyes to achieving wonders, being believed in, remembering their dreams, and instilling the hope and drive to unlock their literary gifts and achieving their dreams._**

**_We want to show impoverished kids and struggling families, that there is another way that doesn't involve drugs or crime or a nine to five job. We provide kids with new self-confidence, self-worth, and a sense of fun."_**

_The above statements are not just for show; Guardians has helped a number of young children out of unsavory home situations and led many of their applicants to wild academic success. If you excel in their summer program, they can help pay for schools and offer scholarships._

_Mr. Moon is also known for his recruitment and training of the bestselling author Nicholas North, former landscaper and film director, and currently a member of the board on Guardians. Mr. North has introduced the Guardian program to the United States._

_Guardians has been widely successful and is responsible for donating millions of dollars in scholarships yearly._

_It is a non-profit organization. It is this generosity, and the success of the program in finding the heart of a writer in young children that has kept this program afloat._

_Guardians works in tandem with their sister program Rise. Rise was created in early 2000 by E. Aster Bunnymund and works with illustrators. Aster, after his own financial complications around his popular works, started Rise as a non-profit and has remained quite broke._

_Toothiana, the agent of promising new author Jack Frost, is believed to be responsible for setting up communications between the two organizations, and has been accredited with much of the administrative work._

-Date June 11, 2013

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

There was a series of statistics after that, and some links to the history of the place, but that was _boring_. Jamie closed the page and leaped out of the spinny computer chair, dragging his eyes to the application packet his mom had brought home for him the other day.

Jamie thought that it sounded, well, hard. Difficult. More responsibility than Jamie had ever really wanted to think about or deal with. What about fun stuff? And games and posters and friends? And he might not even get in! Plus, Mr. North kind of scares him.

But school was expensive, and Jamie knew his mom didn't have much money. Jamie didn't have a dad, but his mom worked really hard. Despite that, without this program, Jamie didn't know what else he'd be able to do, or when else he'd be able to get an opportunity like this one.

Ugh. But that was grown-up thinking! All _mature_ and everything! These were the things his _mom_ was supposed to think about.

Jamie hated the idea that he'd be a grown-up one day. Grown-ups didn't seem to smile, or run or laugh a lot. And jobs! Jobs didn't seem any fun at all. Besides, what if he had to move to Canada or something? Huh? Who would take care of Sophie then?

Despite Jamie's best efforts, this was going to be some hard grown-up thinking with a grown-up decision in the end.

Which basically meant, he was doing the grown-up thing: applying for the program.

"Jaime? Are you up there Jamie? Have you made your decision?"

Fudge. His mom.

"Uh … y-yeah, mom. I think I have."

"That's great, sweetie! Why don't you come down here and tell me all about it. I've got pizza for dinner!"

Jamie looks at the clock beside his bed. It's only seven, which means him mom is home early tonight. Jamie smiles and bounces down the stairs. "Coming!"

"Don't forget to wash your hands!"

Jamie absolutely didn't roll his eyes. Nope. Not him. Instead, like the good son that he always is, he just goes and turns on the faucet. He keeps them there for about five seconds before slapping his hands on the towel and –

"With soap!"

"How did you know?" Jamie laughs, kind of delighted at what he knows are his mom's ninja powers.

"I'm a ninja," she calls back as Jamie finishes washing his hands properly.

"I knew it!" Jamie grins back.

"I'm sure you're a ninja as well. Just hurry up, and try not to wake Sophie."

Jamie couldn't believe he'd actually forgotten about Sophie, even for a minute. Clearly, that's what adult thinking did for you. You forget the important things. "Yeah, be right there."

When Jamie got downstairs, his mom was standing up and holding out a wrapped gift for him.

"I'm going to apply!" He blurts out.

His mom hugs him. "I'm glad." She hands him the present.

"But you didn't know that! Why did get me a gift?"

"Oh, Jamie." She sighs. "I knew you'd make the right choice. Whichever option you chose, I knew I was going to be proud of you."

Jamie gave his mom a Look. He'd never given anyone a Look before and he wasn't quite positive on what exactly a Look was. Still, he'd read about them, and the situation just seemed to call for it, y'know?

"Adults are weird. May I open it now, please?"

His mom laughed and nodded. A couple of impatient rips later, "I knew it! I knew it was true!" Jamie's eyes were shinning as he looked down at the book titled, _Mysterious Times: They're Out There_. On the cover were pictures of bigfoot, an alien, a yeti and three others he couldn't identify. "This is like the coolest book ever!"

"Mammy?" a quiet voice comes from the top of the stairs. Oops. Jamie hadn't meant to wake Sophie up.

"Jamie!" Jamie's mom reprimanded him, walking towards the stairs.

Wincing, Jamie called back, "Sorry, mom!" It occurred to him that he was still talking loudly, and he winced again.

"Just eat your pizza. I'll be down in a minute."

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

**Wikipedia****: Jack Frost**

_Jack Frost is the mysterious, elusive new author picked up by Man in Moon Publications in 2010. There are no available or confirmed pictures of him, or record of birth. There is doubt of his actual existence as a person, and his name is presumed to be a pseudonym._

_ Novels accredited to Jack Frost include: Snowday, Death on a Lake, and Belief. He is celebrated as one of the current up and coming names in literature, and as a real magician by critics. Notable critic for the New York Times, Chris Pine, is quoted saying:_

**_"Frost has a real gift for humor and capturing the lighthearted joy of children, the naïve as a foil for the dark, and those mind blowing moments of pure ice, pure frozen horror; it's a real delight to read his novels, for children, teens and adults." – Chis Pine, on Belief_**

_Frost's works are Man in Moon Publication's (MiM) newest blockbuster, and fans are expecting to see many more things from this mysterious author, especially with the release of his newest novel, The Nightmare Place, rapidly approaching._

-Date: June 12, 2013

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

_Rapidly approaching my hairy behind_, thinks E. Aster Bunnymund. _It was bloody yesterday._

Page needs to be updated. Bunnymund hates Wikipedia. And it hadn't even mentioned Jack's collaboration with him on the origins of Easter children's book.

No, Bunnymund isn't bitter. Or envious. Only … bitter people were bitter.

"Crikey! This is getting me nowhere!" Bunnymund looks around for an excuse. He doesn't find one. He rarely does. He just wasn't, Bunnymund assumes, unconsciously puffing his chest out, that kind of person.

Right. Yeah, well, that also meant that he was going to be the kind of person who had to call Guardian.

Bunnymund kind of blamed Jack for that. Tooth had been more readily available before she'd gotten a job as Jack's editor and agent _and_ general everything. Though, in Jack's defense, Tooth was kind of like everyone's everything.

Honestly, it was like the bloody girl could create miniature copies of herself, or owned an army of minions or something.

Bunnymund reaches for the phone and dials in North's number.

"'ello, mate!"

"Bunny!" Bunnymund had long since given up on getting anyone to call him anything but Bunny. He'd tried Mr., he'd tried Bunnymund, he'd even tried Aster, which was his middle fucking name. It had yet to happen, but Bunnymund was going to cling the hell out of that hope that he'd get something besides a Bunny just once.

(He was choosing to ignore the bit of him that didn't really mind it.)

"North. D'ya know how busy I am?"

"Surely, not too busy. Rise is not, after all, Guardian. You will come, we have much to talk about."

"Rise may not have the prestige –"

"Or the reach –"

"Illustrations don't get enough credit -"

"Regardless," North interrupts their argument, something he rarely does, "this will affect Rise as well. So. You come! I get Tooth!"

"Yeah, yeah. Bloody one in the morning, but I'll be there mate."

"Oh! And grab Frost. Bye now!"

"Wait –"

Click.

Great. Jack. Bloody. Frost. Man in Moon's newest writer and North's newest … something. Fuck. Student thing, perhaps.

_Bunnymund's_ biggest pain in the ass sore point.

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

Jack is wandering aimlessly outside while Bunnymund and North were having their discussion, in the harsh, frozen winter wonderland the city became at had just gotten back from visiting Pippa at the hospital. There was a thing and her still-too-skinny body wasn't dealing with it well – but this time, he had money.

Regardless, struggling to take care of Pippa on the streets had been his life for years. It had been his life since their father abandoned the young boy and his sister in the early 1990s to the dirt and filth of the streets.

He is comfortable here on the streets, was comfortable homeless and starving. That sounded worse than it was.

The first time Jack believes that, he is twelve and Pippa is six. The second is when seeing how little he could eat – how much food he could give Pippa – became a good thing, a game. That it is because she deserves it more than him is the third lie.

Jack lied to Pippa, lied to himself, about hope, about finding a job, about getting off the streets, but the only lies he could make himself believe were the ones that protected him, that made him _fine_.

And when the lies became too much, Jack wrote. Jack would write, invisible to the citizens of New York, about dragons and bad dreams, the cold and the snow, death and new beginnings, paradoxes and the outsiders view into humanity. But most importantly, Jack writes about joy.

Jack writes about laughter and fun and everything wonderful under the sun, joy as an escape from the cold, icy, reality. Jack isn't sure when it became something more.

When he writes, Jack always thinks of children.

Writing eventually became another excuse though. He needed words, and paper, and pens more than food. He probably did, too, then.

Two years ago, during Christmas, an utterly ripped twenty-something year old security guard had handed Jack a contract for books at Man in Moon Publications and North's phone number. North read his first couple of pages and handed him down payment. Down payment of fifteen hundred dollars.

_(Totally_ his pimp.)

This money thing, this writing thing. Every day, it was a surprise. North, Phil-the-Russian-security-guard, knowing he has somebody outside himself, knowing he can be more, he won't always be an invisible street kid on the, well, streets, is a constant surprise.

Jack has an apartment now, and he still spends most of his time on the streets, because he forgets.

Jack laughs.

It's pretty funny.

"Frost! Mate!"

Jack whips around and lets out a delighted "Bunny!"

"Ya know our book? Isn't even mentioned in your credits."

Jack smirks. "Listen, I'm touched you care about me getting all the credit I deserve."

"Yeah, I'm a wonder like that. Get in the car, sweetheart."

Slightly sarcastically, and still smirking, Jack adds: "Aw. I had no idea you really cared!"

"Kid. There are not many people that can mock me. Young things who dye their hair white are not on that list."

Jack gets into the car, still laughing internally at Bunnymund. "Bunny. There aren't many _things_ people _can't_ mock about you." He explains.

"Oi!"

"I mean, just start with you name –" Jack is teasing, used to Bunnymund's grumpiness after working with him for five months. Bunnymund, however, is not used to Jack's teasing.

"Shut it about the name."

"Sure thing, Kangeroo."

Bunnymund doesn't say another word for the rest of the short drive, but Jack can see him quivering with rage, while Jack's own shoulders shake from unceasing bursts of mirth.

The gigantic jeep pulls up on the curb in front of Guardian headquarters, Bunnymund honking his horn, obnoxiously.

It does not have the intended affect. North, instead, throws open the window to top floor of the large Guardian headquarters for New York, where North's office was, of course, located.

"Bunny! Jack! You are here! Tooth and Sandy upstairs already!" He singsongs the last bit, and beckons them with his huge hands.

North's voice echoes down to them, undoubtedly waking up several dozen blocks of sleeping people.

"S-sandy?" Jack opens his mouth, utterly shocked. "Legendary landscape artist and scenery director for – for – any big thing ever?!" Jack asks Bunnymund, too overcome to care that he was asking Bunnymund.

"Here we go. Alright, kid. Let's get inside and ya can do your little fangirl dance in there."

Jack is too busy being excited to listen to Bunny. In the natural order of things, listening to Bunny was outranked by several millions of things, fun things, according to Jack, so that was nothing new.

Childishly, Jack runs through the door to Guardian New York headquarters, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. The skinny boy moved with a captivating grace, light and quick, almost like a snowflake dancing on the wind, if you were feeling poetic. (Or a spider, moving through its web, if you weren't.)

He could be a ballerina on stage, because all the world's a stage, or a butterfly having spurious sex with a flower. A cat, ready to rip you limb from limb or the dancing auroras borealis.

And this is how Jack makes his way up to the top floor of Guardian, watched by some of the biggest names in literature. So, of course, he is all of those things and more.

"Oh! Hey, Phil!"

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

Somewhere down the line Dr. Bennett would cave and ask him why he'd used third person and Jack would shrug, twist his lips up crookedly, flashing her his teeth and not answer, but for now she was content to simply accept the pages that Jack would allow her.

It wouldn't be until years later that Jack would pull her aside at a dinner party drunk and tell her that he wrote it in third person because he was afraid he'd never stop being that person, the Jack Frost that carved a hole for himself in the world and then burned it and everyone foolish enough to get close.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: sorry this took forever to update! personal life got a little hectic / as did school. Kind of long chapter to make up for that, but it's fairly Jamie-centric, though Jamie and Jack finally meet after Jack sort of coerces the other workers at Guardian (who appear to be in some financial trouble) into letting him help out in exchange. **

**Letter: To Guardian and Rise, Sincerely, The Government**

Guardian and Rise Cooperation's,

While we are appreciative of the work you are doing for today's children, we would like to inform you that it is entirely unnecessary. Despite my predecessor allotting you funds, as well as the ability to make offers of scholarships, I find myself disliking this policy.

We are currently in the middle of an economic crisis, and simply don't have time to squander on frivolous activities, such as your silly writing program. While you do get funding from previous pupils and writers of yours, due to the enormous amount of money this project is generating, we, the IRS, have decided to revoke your tax exempt status.

This is because you are receiving and spending money from and for nonbusiness related activities, such as: paying for scholarships and agents, earning money from Man in Moon Publications, and money being given to your personal accounts.

We have searched through your bylaws, and then through your statement to define exactly which ways you may earn money. You're focus is entirely on educating and helping publish new writers, making many of the current funding you are receiving and the directions that you are allotting these funds almost criminal.

Due to this oversight entirely on your part, we are suing you for tax evasion and freezing your accounts.

We, the IRS, apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Pitch Black

_Head of Tax Department_

* * *

><p>There is a heavy, pregnant pause after North finishes reading the letter.<p>

"Cookie?" one of North's midgets popped up holding a tray of cookies in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other, "Or champagne?"

No one really answered, or spared a glance for the midget with the tray other than Jack. It's the seventh midget Jack has seen so far and it's got enough champagne for everyone to have three glasses. There are thirty seven cookies. Nice of North, Jack thought, before stepping away from the midget.

North was an odd fellow. A hefty Russian with a strong accent he'd kept from childhood, despite moving to Canada when he was five.

Most people tended to blame North on Canada. The large man, despite carrying large, old fashioned swords in various offices around Guardian and in most rooms of his house, was the jolliest of people, always looking out for love and seeing the beauty of the world.

North, also, was odd in that almost nobody called him Nicholas, and nobody called him Nick. It was always North, which was as good a name as any, if a little questionable at times.

Such as, when using a compass or a map or getting lost hiking. All of which North has done many times. Practically, this is why he now only camps or hikes or travels with Russians.

Finally, nearing his sixties, North was aging. He even had the full white beard!

Nonetheless, nothing stopped him from doing anything. Case and point: he'd started life as a landscaper (a glorified gardener – but stay away from the sword rooms, if you ever wanted to tell him that) before transitioning into a film director and finally, head of a nonprofit writing organization.

And he'd brought his midgets with him. Genuine, bona fide midgets. Employed everywhere with in Guardian. Midgets and Russians. That only spoke Russian. And could give North a run for his money in terrifying size.

These were also known, by a very limited group of people, as North's camping buddies.

Beyond that, the Russians made very good bodyguards and tended to scare the shit out of new writers until said writers were forced to get used to them.

Around North, you were forced to get used to a lot of things.

After about a minute of stunned silence, everyone began to speak at once.

"He's going after _my_ bylaws?!" Tooth was outraged.

"This is utter bullshit. Y'know? Right? Am I right?" Bunnymund was hopping around, nervously.

"Why I am here?" Jack wondered, looking around. Not that he wasn't concerned or anything, he just honestly didn't see it. Taxes. How _boring_!

"You see? I call you here for reason!" North's boom isn't even enough to drown out the voices off the various controllers of both the Guardian and Rise programs. Technically, that didn't include Sandy, but Sandy had a legal background and was more of a free, ass-kicking, consult.

Sandy is just sitting there, looking distressed.

"Seriously, guys." Jack is waving his hands around. "I don't work here. I don't even know what's going on! I write. That is it."

"We must take arms –" North is reaching for one of his swords.

"Woah, there, mate." Bunnymund hops in front of him. "Look at Tooth."

Tooth was twitching and muttering to herself. She looked on the brink of tears, moving around, with both hands gripping her head and her fingers digging into her temples in way that couldn't _not_ be painful.

The mini editor in Tooth killed itself after that double negative.

_Thunk_.

Sandy dropped North's Santa paperweight. He crossed his arms.

There was more silence.

This time, Jack interrupted it. "Er, why isn't he, you know, talking?"

"'e's a mime." Bunnymund answered, albeit a tad sarcastically.

"What about the whole," Jack waved his hands around a bit, but everyone looked too amused to help him out. "Make-up and stuff," was what he eventually settled on.

"Bein' a mine isn't a job, 'cording ta him. It's a state ta bein'." Bunnymund snorts, and that's definitely sarcasm.

Sandy glares. Then turns around, scribbles a bit, and holds up a sign.

_Is this why you've called us all here north? What is the solution?_

"Yeah. This, is why. This is why Jack's here! Jack! You help us, with writing!"

"How? What? Why?"

"Yeah. How's that dingo gonna do what we can't?"

"Jack!" Tooth sequels and hugs him. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Listen, listen." Everyone quiets to a degree. Those not quiet enough were of no consequence because North has this stunning ability to talk over just about anyone. "Jack will write book for children! Book can be dedicated to cause, because Tooth has written that in bylaws. Then, we will have money to fight IRS."

"That's right!" Tooth seems shocked at the memory of doing that. "I did! We can do this! We can fight this! And we can generate the temporary cash flow we need to keep this thing running by selling donated gifts. "

"Only one problem: Jack's just released his latest novel." Bunnymund sardonically points out. The mood, and Tooth's expression, falls.

"It is not problem," North reassures them. "Jack will just write another!"

"Hey, hey. Wait a second. I _need_ the money I get from my books. I'm not rich like you guys. I can't just give up an entire book sale to Guardian."

"None of us are rich, Jack." Tooth looks at him softly.

_I am._

"Except Sandy." Bunnymund glared at the laughing little man.

But Bunnymund's earlier comment had brought Tooth back to earth. She sighed. "And even if we could, we would still have to funnel the money as a donation. We need to look like we aren't a sleazy, behind the back company, because that's why they claim they're suing us."

"Basically, we're screwed." Bunny finishes.

The feeling of distress continues, but Jack's future novel is the best idea they've got. It's the only idea they've got, and they've got to make it work. Sandy taps Jack's shoulder and holds up a card.

_I will help with money, if you support us._

"I don't," Jack spits out, "Want charity. I don't need it."

"Jack," North said, softly. "It is not charity. It is your due. Look. Look outside. What is out there?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "Sun. Air. Houses. People."

"Children," North breaths.

"Children who can be helped by us," Tooth explains. "Children who need our program. Jack, please?"

Jack still looks like he's going to refuse.

"Have you met Jamie?" Had there been space, Jack would have shook his head. "Wonderful kid. Applying right now. Single mom, deadbeat dad. Bailed when Jamie's sister was born. Beautiful writer. We're going to accept him. We're doing this for people like him, who still remember the magic of movies, the magic of literature, the magic in words. You've got to help us."

Jack looks at the picture of Jamie Tooth had slid over to him during her speech for several long seconds. "Fine. One book. But you've got to give me a couple of months. Because maybe I can't help this program, but I can help you fight for next years. And I get to mentor the kid." Jack tells himself that he doesn't feel a sense of kinship with the boy, that he isn't doing this because he knows what it's like to be abandoned by a father.

"Why?" Bunnymund asks bluntly.

"Don't want you guys – especially you, Kang – screwing it up." Jack replies nonchalantly.

"Excuse me, but how are we goin' to screw him up? Jack, you don't even exist legally, dumbass. You've never show interest before. What's you angle?"

"Bunny!" North sounds appalled.

Jack folds his arms, casually leaning against the wall. "You know what? You're right. I haven't shown interest in your little pet project over here because I was too busy. With an actual job. Earning actual money. Is that even a concept you're familiar with?'

Bunnymund glared at Jack, while Jack only grinned back. "I don't give a crap about you. But I do about these kids, and you're going to give me a damned good reason why the hell you want this."

Taking a step every couple of words to punctuate them, Bunnymund ends up jabbing Jack's chest at the end of his speech.

"Back off, cotton tail. Why do we let him around kids again? I mean, is it really me we're concerned about here?"

There's an awkward silence, until North breaks it, as North in wont to do. "Jack …" He replies carefully.

Sighing, Jack concedes, stepping away from Bunnymund and his own gleeful grin. "I like kids, okay? I raised my sister. And I need money to keep raising her. You guys pay your mentors, right? Obviously, not much, but you pay them, right? So. There's my trade. I'll help you – I'll sacrifice a great deal of money for you guys – but you've got to put out too."

"We're not having sex with you."

"Your loss." Jack smirked at Bunnymund. "Come on, guys! Think, symbiotic, yeah?"

"Okay, Jack. You mentor Jamie. I think this is good for both of you! Now, we celebrate!"

Tooth throws herself at Jack, laughing with joy. It's clear, from the strength at which she hits him, that she had been refraining from doing so for quite a bit.

The hug surprises Jack at first, but Tooth is easy to hug and warm, and then everybody is cheering and breaking out into smiles and Sandy is stealing the midget's Champagne.

It's a lucky break, and it's going to be a hard fight, and they still don't really have a solution, but tonight, they have hope. Hope for next year and hope for themselves and that's enough.

"Tomorrow night," Tooth adds, practically glowing, "you guys can help me go through the bylaws!"

It has to be a feet of magic, how fast everyone loses their cheer at those words.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

Jamie is hanging out with his friends, down by the pool when –

"Cupcake." Kat giggles nervously. "Cupcake's there." Cupcake was large and muscular and kind of scared everyone else. She was mean, too.

"Cupcake's glaring at you."

"Shit, man."

Kat turns around to face her brother. "Claude, watch your language!"

Claude ducks his head, and rolls his eyes. "Sisters, man." The thing about Claude was that even with his gelled up hair and sports shirts, he would never be half as cool as he thought he was. The second thing about Claude was everyone's shock at finding out him and Kat were related. They looked _nothing_ alike.

And like, Jamie didn't even mean that in a racist way, even though Claude was black and Kat totally wasn't.

No one really asked about it anymore, though. Note the anymore, because dumb kids used t' ask 'bout it all the time until Kat and Claude had set them straight.

Kat could punch real well for a girl. Claude punched real bad for girl and frighteningly awful for a guy.

Cupcake turned towards the children holding a book. She was laughing. There was a pause.

Eric, Claude, and Caleb were too busy looking confused to notice the title of the book, but Kat wasn't.

"Oh, my, God!" Kat whispers intensely in Jamie's ear, accidently cutting off the circulation in wrist as she bounced up and down next to him. "Guys! It's Moon Publications new book!" Kat says, louder.

"Huh? Whose it by?" The blond kid with glasses inquires. Jamie thinks that he's exactly the kind of douche that wouldn't just ask stuff, but would have to _inquire_ it instead.

"Jack. Frost!" At first, Kat throws out his name, accompanied by the necessary, single-armed, dramatic gestures. Seconds later, a flash of doubt crosses her face, and she adds an "… I think," no hand gestures.

"W-who?" Jamie's proud of his ability to squeeze that out around the pain of Kat's death grip.

"I'm not sure, actually!" Kat bubbles excitedly. "I think it's some sort of pseudonym. He might not even be a real person!"

_Why_, Jamie wonders, _does that excite her so much? Come to think of it, why does that excite him so much?_ He's pretty sure normal people aren't excited at the thought of your idols being literally nonexistent.

Kat gets up and walks up to Her. To Cupcake.

"This is a really bad –"

"Aah! Christ! Jesus Christ on a cracker! Jamie! You scared me."

"It's too easy. And that's a weird expression."

"You're weird."

"At least the name Jack Frost doesn't make me hyperventilate."

Kat glares at him. "One of these days, Jamie Bennett …"

"You mean, if you're still alive after asking Cupcake for something? 'Cause that's an adventure! There's danger! Excitement! High chance of death or grievous injury! Let's do it and how dare you try to leave me behind?"

Kat punches his arm. "Because I wanted to read it first."

"Not if I beat you!" Then Jamie is laughing and looking back at Kat and it's really no surprise at all when he runs into Cupcake.

Kat sees the two on the ground, tries to stop and then turn and then falls backwards onto her butt. Onto the ground, too, but also, onto her butt.

Which is, actually, one of the better ways to fall. Or, one of the least painful ways to fall. Good padding and all that, you know. 'Specially if you had a good butt. Saddly Kat? Did not have a good butt.

It was still one of the moat painful slips Kat has ever experienced.

Kat, previously unaware of the hole butt thing, is now enlightened, thanks to experience. She sits there and looks around. Jamie is busy babbling to Cupcake.

"Can I borrow that?" Kat asks from the ground.

"An' – ow – an' I'm real super – OW – sorry an' – ow – an' WHAT?!" Jamie yelps.

Kat winces internally when Cupcake turns and glares at her. Until Cupcake starts to giggle and then laugh at her, bending over and handing Kat the book.

"Thanks." A smile alights on Kat's face. "I'll give it back to you –" but then, she's snorting and tinkering and laughing as well, and Jamie's still on the ground experiencing large quantities of pain, confused, and that somehow makes it all the more hilarious.

"I'll give it back to you by next week," Kat promises, once she's got herself under control.

Cupcake grins. "Don't worry about it." And then walks off.

"Woah." Jamie says from the ground. "What was that?"

"I don't know. There's just … something about Frost's books that I love. Oh, I hope he's a real person!"

"He probably is, y'know. Kind of a weird name to make up for a dude. Like, Jack Frost? What, does he think he's some sort of invisible winter spirit?"

"That what they want us to think, Jamie! Because if it wasn't a real person, they wouldn't want us to know that! So they use an unrealistic name! Basic reverse psychology." Jamie doesn't think Kat has any idea what reverse psychology even is.

"Er," he interrupts, "Why wouldn't they want us to know?"

Kat stares at him, like she can't believe how he's completely missing the obvious. "They're part of the _government_," she stresses. "They don't want us to know anything."

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

**Letter: Acceptance to Guardians**

Congratulations Jamie! You have been accepted into the Guardian's program for young and up and coming writers! We were impressed by the works we have seen so far, and are excited to see what you'll do in our program.

The Guardians program in a month and a half long summer program that allows young novelist, screen writers, and playwrights to develop their talent and create a draft of their chosen project. Once you have picked your project, you will be assigned a mentor to guide you through the entire program. You will set goals for yourself and attempt to complete your chosen project.

Scholarship and publishing opportunities will be available should you, after the month and a half program, wish to continue with Guardian.

Please respond by July 1, 2013, the start of the program. Good luck!

Nicholas North

_Program Leader_

Jamie spent the next several minutes gaping at the letter clutched between his fingers. "Mom!" He called. "Mom, I got in!"

Ms. Bennett could be heard clearly in the kitchen, cleaning up, as she hollered back up to Jamie. "That's great, sweetie. I knew you would."

"Wooooooooooo!" Jamie whooped, racing down the stairs, past his mom, and out the door in his delight.

"Zoom, zoom!" Sophie, his younger sister, giggled behind him. Giggling behind him until she fell, at least. Jamie skidded to a stop outside to let his mom know, before continuing his mad dash of joy. DOJ, for short.

"Mom! Sophie fell again!" At least she wasn't crying this time. Sophie cried a lot. Jamie was grateful it was a Sunday and his mom was actually home, because that meant – he didn't have to deal with Sophie's crying! Or falling! Which was, y'know, awesome, obviously.

Once outside, Jamie bumps into Claude and Kat, Claude quite literally. Kat is too busy devouring Jack Frost's new novel to notice him at first, but Jamie doesn't mind.

Jamie clambers off of Claude – ignoring Claude's complaining modes – and lets Kat and Frost slip his mind, running off with Claude. Jamie's hoping they meet up with all his friends and he can tell them about getting into Guardian.

Kat looked up just in time to notice them leaving and decide she didn't care.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

Time passed exceedingly quickly, racing unflinchingly towards the due date as Jamie willed the first few weeks of summer away happily, playing in the pool and running. He'd even read one of Jack Frost's books at Kat's insistence and it was … like, dude, mind totally blown!

Jamie felt, however, in those quiet moments when he wasn't out with his friends or when his mom was working late again, like a constipated old man, getting steadily more constipated.

All the tensions and pressures and worries and – it was work, over summer, alright? – kept building up.

No matter, to extend the constipated simile, how much he wanted to go to the bathroom to take a shit, he couldn't. All those emotions were stuck. Bottled up inside him.

Which meant, now dropping the constipation simile because it's getting a little disgusting here, on July 1st, 2013, Jamie was exploding. He was an utter mess. His emotions were all over the place, jumping up and down one second, begging not to go the next, and moaning about summer while proclaiming his excitement at working with real authors.

This was even more evident when his mom's car pulled up in front of Guardian and Jamie couldn't stop shaking.

The two of them entered the building rather unconfidently. The Guardian's building was a rather intimidating thing. It took a really special (read: cocky, read: Jack) person to enter Guardian confidently.

The building structure twisty and high, covered with lights and colors and banners and music and noise, every single bit of it screaming, "look at me". It had brick patterns going up the side, inlaid ornate windows and huge murals of mythical people and creatures. Rising high above the other buildings in the street, the building, with large, iron-wrought letter's pronouncing it as Guardian's headquarters in the center of the front of the building shadowed over the bad parts of New York.

Contrastingly, the entire building itself seemed light and fantastical, almost a like some kind of floating dreamscape.

The interior of Guardian was a deep, dark red. Inside, there were several pine trees, flowers and bushes around the enormous entry room, and black couches around a fire in the center of the front room. A wintery, practically celebratory feel was given off despite the fact that most of the front entry room looked like a hotel lobby, with the year old magazines and bad free food.

Except, in Guardian, there weren't any magazines, but novels from previous participants in the program and an inordinate amount of cookies carried by happy looking midgets as opposed to bad food.

The effect was one of mixed fearsomeness, openness, and professionalism for the truly odd.

There's a plaque on the floor proclaiming it to be the work of Mr. Sandy Manne, renowned animator.

They'd been there, waiting for about ten minutes and Jamie didn't think he'd shut his mouth yet. But he was too busy being awestruck with wonder to really bother with his mouth, so he couldn't be too sure on that count.

"Excuse me, miss?" Oh, right. They were at Guardian for more than awed silence. Jamie's mom approaches a wild looking woman in the corner.

The woman whom Jamie's mom addresses is short, with long, pleated hair intertwined with feathers and dyed strands of hair. Her skin is bronzed and covered heavily in bright, tropical make-up. Everything about the women seemed to move and glow – from her hair, to her loose and flowing clothes and her pearly whites.

"Nice teeth!" Jamie blurted out, unable to think of anything else to say.

The woman preened. "Gorgeous, aren't they? Now, if you brush and floss, yours can be too." She smiles kindly at him. "What's your name?"

"Jamie Bennett."

"We're here for the program." Jamie's mom announces, loud and exasperated.

The woman laughs. "Of course you are! My name is Toothiana, but you can just call me Tooth. Or Ana. Or Toothiana. Not really that particular. Call me whatever feels the most comfortable to you. It is all about you, really! Now, if you'll follow me, Jamie Bennett, North – Mr. North – is greeting the other participants down the hall. I'm sorry Ms. Bennett, but you won't be able to come with us." It was hard to disagree with Ms. Toothina's sparkling smile.

Jamie's mom turns to him. "I love you. I know you're going to do great." She hugs him. "I'll see you at four-thirty when you get out, alright?"

"Love you too mom. Tell Soph I love her!" Jamie had gotten Kat to watch Sophie while his mom was at work and he was here, so at least he didn't have to worry about her.

Jamie's mom kissed him one last time – to a dismayed "mom!" from Jamie himself – and then left.

Tooth grabbed his hand and led him down the hallway. It seemed, to keep getting longer and longer, but then Jamie blinked and they were there.

Yikes.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

"You are all children from bad neighbors, yes? Because this is what we do. That is what Guardian does. It protects you guys. It provides opportunity! Guardian was originally founded in 1900s, sometime, for film writers," a large Russian man is speaking when Jamie walks in the door.

"Oh, my, God. That's North!" Jamie whispers with reverence. Toothiana nods softly at him. Jamie thinks that Toothiana has the quietest softest nod of anyone he knows. Everyone who knows Tooth doesn't think that anymore, because they know it's true.

North continues, oblivious. "And now, we form bigger organization than ever before! We help all literally aspects. And smaller organization, Rise, helps with the artists! We now split you into groups, okay children?"

He gets a couple of glares for the children remark, both most let it go and agree.

"Okay. Screenwriters, go to next room with David Linsey-Abiare. Playwriters, you stay. Tooth will take care of you. Tooth! You take care of them, right, now? Novelist, you follow me. I keep talking, so listen up!"

Only about ten children left with North, with the largest crowd following behind the David, the smallest staying with Tooth.

"So. Nine. Eh, it is more than the usual! I tell you how this works. This is your group. These are your people for when we do group activities. Yet, you also be assigned mentor." He dips his voice for that part. "The mentor helps only you," he booms, "and," he continues cheerily at a much lower volume, "you spend most your time with them. So," North claps his hand. "I give you name of mentor, and floor."

One by one, all of the children received their instruction and mentors floor.

Jamie received a piece of paper saying "Jack Frost." And "Outside." And "Good luck. :D"

The emocon makes him think Tooth must have written these. That makes him smile. And then the rest of the note hits him. Jack. Frost. He's going to be mentored be Jack Fricking Frost and Kat is so going to flip.

Wait … outside? Where outside? Slowly, Jamie wandered up to Mr. North, waiting until everyone else had their papers.

"Mr. North?"

"Call me North. I insist!"

"North, my paper says my room is outside?"

"Ah, you have Jack! No worries. I call, let him know you are coming."

"Yeah, but where?"

"Where? Outside, of course!"

Jamie let out what might be classified as a huff. "Okay, I know that. But where outside?"

"Where outside?" North moved his face so that his bamboozled expression was inches away from Jamie's. Suddenly, it cleared. Jamie brightened. North got it! Halleluiah! Answers! "Ah. You are lost! It is not problem. I show you door."

North grabs Jamie by the scruff of his shirt. "This is so cool!" Jamie mutters to himself. He's being manhandled by Nicholas North!

They're about half way to the entrance when the two are interrupted by a loud laugh. A skinny kid with white hair and light blue hoody appears to jump out of the wall. Jamie hadn't noticed him there at all.

The first thing Jamie notices, before Jamie notices the dude himself, is the intensity with which the guy is cracking up. The second is that he hadn't got any shoes on, and third is that he's got to be the thinnest kid Jamie's ever seen.

The fourth is that he's carrying a plate of cookies in one hand and there's a disgruntled midget yelling at Tooth in the corner.

The question as to why the midget was yelling at Tooth instead Jack was answered in the form of a burly security standing well-within Jack's personal space bubble and glaring fearsomely at said midget. The name tag reads Phil. Phil backs off when he notices North.

Once he manages to control himself, he speaks. "Hey, kid. Cookie?"

"Jack Frost!" North beams.

Jamie goes star struck. "You're … you're really real?"

Jack frowns for a second, then grins again. "Who do you think wrote all the Jack Frost books?"

"I don't know. Kat said it was probably a pseudo … pseud …"

"Pseudonym?" North prompts.

"Yeah!"

"Nope," Jack says, shaking his head back and forth. There is a silence that lasts for the shortest of milliseconds as the three people glance awkwardly at each other.

"Ta da!" Jack, of course, breaks it, waves his hand around a bit in a facsimile of jazz hands, still kind of smirking, and steps quickly towards Jamie.

"I leave you now. Good luck Jamie Bennett. Good luck Jack Frost." And North drops Jamie and pats him a good inch or two shorter before lumbering off.

"Bye!" Jamie bounces cheerfully at him. He turns back to Jack and snatches a cookie. "I can't believe you're really … real," he breaths.

Jack just smirks. "So, kiddo, ready to get started?"

"You know," Jamie says through a bite of cookie, "I think I should find it offensive that you're calling me a kid when you're ..."

"About to turn twenty?" Jack stuck out his tongue. "Way more mature?"

"Yeah, right." Jamie interrupted. Jamie's eyes fly open dramatically. And … whoops. Probably not supposed to interrupt the instructor.

Jack doesn't seem to care, though, so Jamie relaxes and figures it's okay. Jack rolls right on through with his list. "Stunning gorgeous ... I could go on." He strikes a dramatic pose.

"Please don't," Jamie giggles. And then slaps a hand over his mouth.

Jack smiles rather genuinely at Jamie, and Jamie positively beams back. "So. First off, let's have some fun."

Jamie starts getting really excited, and then he remembers the words on the letter like 'scholarship' and 'money' and 'deserve'. His beam dims a bit and he hopes that Jack will still want to have fun even if they aren't supposed to. "Fun? Aren't I supposed to pick my project and stuff?"

"But that's ... hard work. And deadlines. And that's not me. Look, the best way to write, is to have fun writing. Which means we're going to ... you know, summer is really not my month? I was born on the winter solstice. Summers suck." Jack complains.

Jack shrugs. He reaches down and taps Jamie's hand, gesturing Jamie to follow. The two bounce and burble their way outside.

Jamie, who has been thinking about the summer situation, attempts to explain the awesomeness of summer to Jack, who is clearly crazy. "But there's no school in the summer."

Jack shrugged. "I never went." He states simply, pushing the door open.

"No. Way." Jack look apprehensive for a second as he holds the door for Jamie. Jamie thinks its kind of dumb that Jack is worried. School is terrible and boring. "That's so cool!"

Jack's smirking, which Jamie likes. "Right? So, that's the first thing. I want this to be something you are excited and happy about. So, let's ... oh, I've got an idea."

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

"Wooah! Yeah! Nailed it!"

A car honked angrily.

Jamie's too busy jumping up and down with joy after hitting a speeding car with a water balloon to notice Jack aiming one his way.

Splash.

Oh, Gods that water was like ice. Jamie paused a minute and then grinned, throwing the entire bucket of water onto Jack. And then Jack was laughing and Jamie was laughing and the two of them were leaning over, clutching each other with uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

Wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, and taking a couple of seconds to control himself, Jack spoke. "Alright. Let's do some brainstorming then. What do you like writing?"

"Magic. And, you know, creatures. Like Yeti's! Because they're real, and they help Santa with their toys and they're really cool, okay?"

"So you've got some idea. Awesome."

And Jack and Jamie settled in for a bit of work, if you could really call anything that Jack Frost did work, until -

"Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Not much younger than you. I'm kind of hungry. When are we stopping for lunch?"

Jack looks around. "I'd say, right about now o'clock?"

"That's not really a time, Jack."

"Sure it is, Jamie. Sure it is."

"Whatever. Let's eat!"

The two of them walked back to the Guardian building, to the room where everyone had first gathered. Where they were once nothing, there were now large buffet tables covered with -

"Peanut butter sandwiches?" Jack laughed, somewhat incredulously. "Guess we're more low budget than I thought. Wish I could have seen North and Tooth arguing over the budget."

"What?"

"Ah, nothing, kiddo. Let's get you some food." There are lots of children milling around, but most of the writers have bailed, going to get their own lunch or simply taking an hour long break. There are, also, too many reasons that explain why Jack doesn't.

Jamie looks up at Jack innocently. "What about you?"

"Nah. I don't eat much. I'm not hungry right now. I'll eat later. Don't worry about me. Go get yourself some lunch."

Jamie doesn't really pay much attention to that, only thinks that Jack is the coolest person ever, and he can't wait to get home and tell Kat about it.

**A/N: again, sorry this took forever! what did you guys think?**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: summary: jack isn't feeling at well (in fact it seems to be getting worse) while pitch continues to make trouble for tooth and her crew. A surprise hospital visit that doesn't quite reveal jack's secret **

**Legal Document: Guardian Bylaws**

_Article I: Organization_

_The name of this organization shall be Guardian. The core that this organization has been created for is: to help support the arts for children in areas of lesser economic stability. The name is subject to change by a majority vote._

Article II: Purpose

_The purpose of this organization will be to help improvise children develop literary skills in a safe a fun environment, though a month long program. Acts of Guardian will include publishing deals, child to author one on one mentoring and scholarship opportunities._

_Article III: Membership_

_This organization is open to a select few students under the age of sixteen who show extraordinary literary talent. Funds will be appropriated to pay independent contractors to work with the children; however, this is not membership and does not entitle you to any of the above benefits. Independent contractors will not be applicable for tax withholding. The children that are to be chosen for the program will be judged by of board of no less than three and no more than six. _

_Article IV: Meetings_

Jack looked up from the piece of paper Tooth had handed him. He looked back down at it. The meetings section looked long. As in, rest of the page long. He could just, skip, that section, right? I mean, it didn't actually pertain to him. Jack wasn't a member of the board or anything.

The fifth article, however, didn't look any better.

Jack bounced to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He checked the time. 7:03. He hadn't even been reading for five minutes and he was already done. Great. Perfect. Brilliant. Picking up a pencil with his forefinger and thumb, Jack began to twirl the pen around his hand, trying to ignore the growing headache in his head.

He rubs his hand against the fine hair on his arm absent mindedly.

Honestly, Jack was never good at paying attention, but reading these articles was like dragging his brain over sand.

Jack dropped the pen. It was a long day. He was fairly tired. He let it go.

There was pause, in which nothing happened. North was wearing glasses, though. Dumbledore, half-moon glasses. They didn't make North looked wise, they just made Jack laugh. Except he wasn't actually supposed to be laughing, he was supposed to be working. Jack stifled his laughter.

Bunnymund still glared at him.

Grumpy, much?

"Not grumpy, ya gumbie." Bunnymund snapped at him.

"Did I say that aloud?" Jack shrugged innocently, opening up his stance. "Oops. Guess I never was too great at controlling my impulses." Jack's grinning now.

"Jack. Bunny." Tooth scolds. "Get back to work! If we're going to do this thing on technicalities, you guys have got to know these bylines better than me."

"Toothiana, I think that's impossible."

Tooth laughed with Jack for a second, before snapping back into super-Manager.

Jack looks back down and tries to focus on article something or other in Roman about salaries, but he just can't.

"I can't believe I'm actually working," Jack groaned.

"Ah, shut it." Bunny slammed his paw down, frustrated. "I'm the one who should be workin' at Rise, 'stead a messin' 'round you idiots over at Guardian. Ya don't want ta help? Leave."

That was a little harsh. Wait. Maybe that wasn't a bad idea. "I'm going to get some coffee, guys. It's going to be a real long, real slow, and real exhausting night. What do you guys want?"

"That is good idea, Jack Frost. Get me hot mocha, please." North is the first one to respond.

"Espresso – no double – no triple espresso. Two. Two triple espressos and Jack you are a god!" Toothiana is practically vibrating and Jack really doesn't think she needs caffeine. He's mentioned her caffeine addiction before, and had gotten an earful about the amount of work she supposed to do in a day, every day, and how she'd be able to get any of it done let alone all of it without her espressos, and he hadn't asked again.

Sandy was asleep in the corner. No one could really bring themselves to wake him.

"I'll have a one hot tea. And ah, quality. Lose leaf kid. Kind ta cost the big brikkies. None of the tea bag garbage, y'hear?"

"Well, aren't you a special little snowflake."

"This close ta bailing up on ya. Coffee's just not my bowl of rice, y'get?"

"You mean, cup of tea? As in the cup of tea you want me to bring you? Bunny!" Jack sounded delighted. "Your Australian is showing!"

"Cark it."

Chortling, Jack left. Or, attempted to. He'd taken about five steps outside when Tooth caught up to him. "Grab us a pizza or something too, yeah? Yeah. Awesome! Thanks again, Jack. Oh! Here's some money!"

"I have mon – my phone's right – you're wel – you didn't –"

Tooth was already gone.

Jack sighs, but he's smiling when he does, letting the hand holding his wallet drop.

When he gets back, three coffees and a tea in one arm, and a pizza box in the other, the room looks like it's been attacked by a hurricane. Carefully printed and sorted bylaw articles are everywhere.

Tooth is pacing erratically around the room, obviously talking on her phone.

"Listen, listen, listen."

Pause.

"Uh, huh."

Pause.

"Yeah, no, got that. But you must have gotten my reports! I've sent them, annually! And I've got Form 990 right –" Tooth rummages around in North's desk for a bit. "Not my desk. Right." She turns back to her phone. "Right in my desk drawer and links are on our website. I mean, they're available to the public. Haven't gotten a single bad review from a board member ever –"

There is a long pause this time.

"Okay, can you tell me where we are apparently breaking the bylaws? Why weren't we given a warning here?"

There pause is short, before Tooth is interrupting.

"I don't think you can prove it! From our perspective, we weren't dodging our taxes or misappropriating our funds! This backup withholding stuff is ridiculous –"

"No," Tooth is snapping, "I am not calling the IRS ridiculous –"

There's a really short pause, where Tooth quite clearly steamrolls over the useless IRS worker. Jack can just imagine him at work, wanting to look cool in front of all his coworkers on the first, and being all 'I got this,' and 'watch me deal with this idiot' and then getting an earful of Tooth.

He would laugh, but then _he'd_ be getting an earful from Tooth.

"I'll I'm saying is we don't have the money right now! Look, give us a few months! But the program requires ever extra cent we're earning. We need building and places to work with these children. We need food! Most of our assets are already frozen; we've got to use these accounts!"

There's a dangerous sounding pause.

"No, I don't consider that breaking the law! I consider that helping children! Good day to you too!"

And Tooth is slamming the phone down. Very. Annoyed.

Nobody moves as Tooth walks over to a chair and collapses.

"I've got the coffee?"

Tooth leaps back up. "Thanks, Jack."

"Appreciated." North grabs his mocha and inhales. "Mmh."

Bunnymund doesn't say much, but does offer grudging thanks before he snatches up the tea. Jack looks around, and thinks it's amazing that Sandy managed to sleep through all of that.

"Not to ask the obvious, but Tooth? What's going on?"

"Well, our funds have been frozen by Pitch which was a major dick move –"

"Toothie!"

"He messed with my bylaws! I know it. Now, if I can just prove it …" She looks around sheepishly. "Oh. Right. Sorry. Anyways, he froze our assets, and we need money just to operate this building, just a small flow of temporary cash, which I started drawing in through the gift's we've been given. By selling them. On eBay. Which is totally legal in form 550 (c) -"

Jack interrupted. "So, we have money now?"

"Technically, it's taxable income. I mean, I would normally, to include it as a gift, have to fill out a bunch of forms, but I had to switch accounts from our old company account to this one so that we'd be able to sustain ourselves at least a little bit longer and frankly, I didn't have the time."

Tooth pauses for conformation that everyone is still with her. Sandy, after being nudged awake finally by North, is blinking blearily at her, but appears to be following.

"And now, the IRS is claiming that we broke our bylaws or that what we did didn't fit under our bylaws at the very least, which meant that they were under New York laws."

"Which is stupid, because it should just fall under normal income laws."

Everyone nods, even though they aren't quite sure what they're nodding about. Income laws, apparently.

"So, now we've got all these backup withholding taxes to pay –"

"What?"

"Just … a lot of really high taxes whenever we try to withdraw or use money. Really high, too. Like, initially the point of all these things is so that you don't spend all your income and have nothing to pay the IRS during tax season, so the entire point of backup withholding taxes is basically to severely restrict your income. We can't really afford that. We'll be broke within two or three weeks, if we keep up our current spending projection. I'm sorry, guys. I tried to fix it, but it just made things worse."

"It is not big deal. You try. We all now put heads together, solve problem."

"It's too late, North. We're going to have to shut down the program."

"No!" North bangs his fist down. "I refuse."

"I've got an idea," Jack interrupts. "If we get the kids to do some work –"

Tooth lights up. "We could file them under volunteers, because technically they are, if they 'volunteer' to do a work day – but, Jack, what would they do?"

"We've got a couple of weeks, right? We'll have a screening of their work. Sell food, tickets, seats."

"That won't be enough," Bunnymund contributes cynically. "But, authors can come –"

"And they'd be volunteers too – they better." Tooth mutters to herself.

Jack's getting excited about even Bunny getting excited about the idea.

"Do panels, we can have the bastards pay out the noses for that," Bunnymund continues. "Sell some 'amber liquid' to the adults."

"My midgets work as ushers." North offers. "Russian can be bouncers."

Jack looked on the verge of laughter then. "Phil'll _love_ that." He announced sarcastically.

Tooth lets out a high pitched squeal. "Guys, this is going to work! This is actually going to work!"

**We just have to do some actual work?**

Sandy held up a placard with words scribbled over it, apparently awake now.

"You said it, Sandy. Right, so I take it Guardian is sorted? I can get back to Rise now? Crikey. Don't know how those dingoes are managing without me."

"Bunny's right. Real work? I'm outta here."

"Stay! Bunny, Jack. Stay for pizza. We have party!" North gestures wildly in the air.

"Not on your nelly, mate. I'm gettin' ta Rise. But I'll take a slice. To go."

North lets out a booming laugh and hands Bunnymund a piece. "Jack, come! Eat with us!"

Jack casts a nervous look at the pizza box, and smirks a bit as he looked back up at them. "Sorry. I've got a thing with Pip, and leftovers with my name on them, in bold and highlighted, back at our place. See you guys tomorrow."

**Are you visiting Pippa in the hospital?**

Jack gives a little half wave before disappearing. He misses Sandy's note as he waves goodbye to Phil.

With no response forth coming, Sandy rolls over to get back to sleep, while Tooth works and North helps and hinders in turns.

The midgets bring them cookies all night. And egg nog.

By morning, Tooth and North are fast asleep, and only slightly drunk, while Sandy is climbing down the fire escape.

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

When Jack finally gets to see Pippa, he's a couple minutes late and he can't help but let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't noticed this time.

"Jack!" Pippa's entire face lights up as giggles up at him. "Let's have fun, Jack. It's always fun when you're here."

Chuckling, Jack says the next part of the well-worn script: "Let's play a game."

Pippa pulls the blanket around her and draws herself up regally. "Yes. We shall. Sir Jack, what game should we play?" Almost immediately, she breaks her façade of mysterious Queen. "Tell me more about how you defeated the Nightmare King, Jack. You never finished last time!"

"Alright." Jack always lets Pippa pick what they do.

Soon the two are laughing and Jack's standing up and acting a caricature of the entire thing out, and Pippa's clapping and laughing along with Jack and the doctors look surprised and tell him that she wasn't doing well earlier that day.

They also tell him how much she loves his visits.

He gives her one of the cookies he stole from one of North's midgets and the expression on her face makes him glad he didn't eat one.

Eventually, the nurses kick him out and Jack goes home, amazed at the ease of it all and falls asleep alone and smiling.

...

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

**Pandora: **_**Set Fire to the Face On Fire**_**, by Blood Brothers**

_About: Blood Brothers_

_Set Fire to the Face On Fire is one of the Blood Brothers' few singles, released in 2007 right before the band broke up later that year. Blood Brothers are a staple of the emerging screamo genre, a subgenre of emo. Screamo music pulls in more aggressive tones than its brother, emo, and appears to be majorly influenced by hardcore punk. Blood Brothers especially were known for this and for their experimental edge._

_The screamo genre began noticeably in the 1990s. Blood Brothers released their first album ten years later: This Adultery is Ripe. Two years later, March of the Electric Children came out, but it wasn't until 2003 with Burn, Piano Island, Burn that their music really started to hit it off and stand out in screamo culture. Their two subsequent albums, Crimes and Young Machetes, became even more popular._

_Band members include: Jordan Billie and Johnny Whitney both doing and occasionally dueling on vocals, Morgan Henderson on the bass and backup vocals, Cody Votolato from Waxwing on guitar and backup vocals as well, and Mark Gajadhar on the drums. One of the notable aspects of the band was Jordan Billy and Johnny Whitney both dedicated to vocals, as well as their stage presence. The band joined as a group in 1997, and stayed together for ten years before an amicable break in 2007._

_-Date: July 2nd, 2013_

Pitch Black, frustrated, gave up and slams his computer lid down. It is close to midnight, and he's still hiding in the dark of his office like he has no life.

Which he doesn't, per se, but that's only by choice.

Pitch worked hard. He spent years menially filing taxes as a low-level executive at the IRS (this, North suspects, whenever he chooses to contemplate the nightmare that is Pitch Black, is where it all started going wrong. As Jack said, the only thing duller than taxes was reading about tax exceptions. Pitch had to do both for years).

And Pitch had slaved away, down there, in that dark basement where all tax interns worked. Slaved away for large sums of money at the price of his soul, or, at the very least, his sense of humanity, only to finally end up with a dark attic office where he slaved away all day and night in.

Despite the fact that he was surrounded by other tax workers, there was a surprisingly lopsided ratio of tax payer to tax worker, and everyone was always focused and doing something, silently going crazy.

The job of the IRS is, in part, to instill fear. To instill the amount of fear that would guarantee people actually paid their taxes, and didn't try to cheat or blur the lines.

Because of the limited number of people and short attention that could be paid to each activity, this spread of fear in the IRS is all the more important.

Furthermore, there were things you had to do in that place. Things that, melodrama excluded, did change you. Like foreclosing on a destitute family. Seizing property as quickly as possible. Going to extraordinary lengths to fix taxing problems and get the money. The IRS gave no time and no mercy, searching for ways to make the not profitable go away, immediate solutions to the problem.

Pitch excelled, and the early years of torture were soon behind him.

It was promotion after promotion, Pitch Black climbing the executive tower like a bolt of lightning, fuelled by emo culture and the even better screamo music. And Pitch was the best at taxes. You might say Pitch was quick as a bunny when it came to squeezing every last cent out of the terrified families around the world.

He was head of the taxing department before you could blink. And be snatched up by a weeping angel if this was _Doctor_ _Who_.

And then Guardian began expanding and made its big move to America. And suddenly, there were less people who were scared of taxes. Less hopeless families to foreclose on. More families, more people, able to see through the bullshit, able to fight their charges and taxes in court.

And the more of those cases the IRS lost, the less feared they became. And soon, the tax monster of the government began to fade, just a little at a time.

But if the IRS could nail Guardian on their taxes, everything would be right again.

Governments need fear. They need money, and they need people scared enough to pay it on time. They needed the destitute to know their place.

There was no place in government proceedings for a Guardian or a Rise building. Not in America, at least. Not if Pitch could help it.

Grinning, and leaning back into his custom made-chair, Pitch grins and turns up _Set Fire to the Face on Fire_. Really, it was a _pity_ the Blood Brothers broke up.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

It took twelve hours before Pitch had discovered Tooth's quick money plan, but it only took half an hour to rip it to shreds.

He was a tax professional. She was simply a secretary turned agent for the mysterious Jack Frost. Pitch wanted to meet this Jack Frost, mostly because he knew North was taking him under his wing and also because he didn't know anything about Jack.

That should have puzzled him, but instead, it excited him. Interested him. Curiosity, piqued.

Many, deader men have mentioned that Pitch was strange.

Those men are, as previously noted, all dead now. Technically, missing. But really, really dead.

But, in Pitch's defense, they were all stupid people. Well, people stupid enough to insult an emo-screamo follower dude who just looked evil, no matter how much pink he wore. And, to be frank, they were a tad bit judgmental.

The world, in Pitch's faux humble opinion, was better off without them. And if it wasn't? What's done was done and there was no use crying over spilt milk.

Pitch prided himself on having a very _pragmatic_ approach to death.

However, when all was said and done, Pitch didn't really like to kill people. You had to be careful with killing people, because you couldn't get caught, or even suspected. Not unless you were some mob boss somewhere in Chicago.

Pitch hated Chicago.

It definitely wasn't because everyone there was either too busy being afraid that they weren't part of the mob or too busy pretending that they weren't because they were part of the mob to be afraid of him or anything. That would be silly.

But Pitch didn't have time, frankly, to lead a mob; it wasn't nearly wide reaching enough, and Pitch hated cops. Just, the entire concept was insane and begging to be corrupted.

Instead, Pitch could rule the world from his current position. Or the United States, if not the world. Because being a tax executive gave you power over people's money, the government's money, and how those two things were related. That was a lot of power, and now, with Pitch's new regime plowing forwards, a lot of fear.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

A month later, an exhausted Jack will try to delay lunch by asking Dr. Bennett if she thought he made it up, the stuff about Pitch. He'll say that he hopes she doesn't, because he read the police reports and he's entitled to artistic liberties, right?

She'll shrug and say she believed him anyway.

"Nightlight?" She'll ask.

"Nightlight," he'll reply.

They'll laugh, but Dr. Bennett's laugh will be the least attractive, pig snort laugh that Jack thinks anyone can ever hear. It'll make them laugh harder.

And then she'll grab a passing doctor and ask for Jack's lunch. She won't give a fuck that the doctor isn't Jack's.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: in which some conversations are held where certain topics are danced around and truth and secrets come from an unexpected quarter. **

**Dictionary: Fun**

1. An enjoyable activity

2. Something that brings feelings of happiness

3. An emotion, positive and often associated with laughter

**Synonyms**: _amusement, entertainment, lark, joy, boisterous, tomfoolery_

**Antonyms**: _boring, dull, annoying, tiresome_

* * *

><p>Jamie had been right. Kat was overcome, practically, when she heard that he'd not only met Jack Frost, but was being mentored by him. And it was such fun, too. Jamie couldn't honestly think of a time when he was happier. And besides, his story was wrapping around nicely. Sort of.<p>

Jack was cool and everything, and Jamie was getting a lot of work done, he just didn't see how he'd ever be able to get the thing all _done_-done.

But, Jamie told himself, that was probably just an adult thing. A boring, grown-up thing that all this work was tricking him into thinking. Of course he was going to finish. He felt a little silly for doubting it. Jamie berated himself for almost letting real life get in the way of fun. That should never happen.

Besides, Jamie was – both already and only – two weeks in. He had time, and he couldn't give up now. And Jack was such an awesome mentor.

Jamie remembered talking to him the other day. Jack was making him do another weird writing exercise that was supposed to, and probably would, if Jamie was being fair, (which he wasn't) improve his writing.

"This seems so pointless."

"It's not. I don't think. It'll help. Probably. Maybe. Some dude on the internet said it would, and we all know the internet never lies," Jack had deadpanned.

"Wow. I'm really glad I'm doing it now, Jack."

There was a beat. "I feel like I'm one of the creepy wise guy in _those_ movies, y'know? Like, 'be one with the paper, student'. And 'there are many aspects of writing within yourself you must discover'. All 'do this seemingly pointless activity because it's going to save your life in the final scene and totally get you the girl'."

"I hope you know I'm picturing you as an old guy with a cane right now."

"I'd be sexy old guy. And I've got the hair."

"Let's get you a cane, Jack!"

"No. Padawan, you must first complete your task."

"It'll be fun." Jamie had wheedled.

"Okay." Jack had given it a second of pretend thought before agreeing. "Love playing hooky."

"Thought you didn't go to school?"

"Oh, I didn't. I still found ways …" and their voices trailed off as they wandered about looking for a stick. They hadn't ended up finding anything that day.

Jamie kind of missed that Jack. He figured it was like, life or something, but Jack seemed tired now. And a lot thinner. With bags under his eyes. Maybe his story wasn't working out as well as Jamie's.

Jamie had asked how he was sleeping once, and Jack had told him he was worried about his sister. But five days ago, Jack had run up to him and hugged him, explaining that his sister was going to be released from the hospital soon and the next day, the bags were still there.

And even though it was summer, Jack always wore the exact same blue hoody. With the neat ice patterns. New York summers were hot as hell, pardon his French, too.

The first time they'd talked about that had been a couple of days ago and it hadn't gone well.

"Jack, aren't you hot?"

"I'm always hot." Looking up jokingly at Jamie from under his eyelashes, Jack was grinning forcefully.

"No, I mean, under the sweater. It's summer. We live in New York."

Jack laughed, but it sounded kind of hoarse. "And I'm Jack Frost. I'm naturally cold. Don't worry about me."

"Seriously?"

"I'm never serious!" Jack proclaimed.

"Aren't you roasting?"

Jack sighed. "No. When I said I was naturally cold, I wasn't technically kidding. I'm anemic."

"Isn't that the thing where teenage girls don't eat food and die?"

For whatever reason, Jack's response seemed oddly stiff. "No. That's … um, anorexia. Anemia is … it's like my body doesn't have enough red blood cells, so I'm tired and cold a lot. Like, sickle cell anemia but you don't die."

"I don't think you die from sickle cell anima."

"I think you do."

"We just learned about it in bio. I think you just have to do stuff and then you don't die. Ish. Something like that."

"Well, with that convincing piece of evidence, I must now bow down to your superior knowledge." Jack's sarcasm made Jamie feel a little more comfortable.

"Well, then how come you know that stuff?"

"My sister," Jack sat up straighter, speaking proudly. "Pippa's smart. She's going to be a doctor."

They're sitting down and there is silence. Jamie wasn't quite sure how long the silence lasted or how it started, but it looked like things had gotten serious, even with Jack and it felt wrong to break it.

Eventually Jack had. "Boys get it too, you know."

Jamie had lost track of the conversation at that point. "What?" he asked, confused.

"Anorexia," Jack replied, quickly, looking away from Jamie, pulling his hand around in vague circles over his head.

"Oh." Jamie paused and thought that over. "The not-eating and dying thing?"

Jack sighed, and leaned back. "Yeah."

"Oh." Jamie couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said it again: "Oh."

And there was silence again. Jamie decided that the sweater was a sore point, and resolved not to ask about it again, because this was really depressing, but Jack ate lunch with him that day and for some reason, that made Jamie really happy.

Even if Jack was quite possibly the slowest eater ever, and would, like, lose to a turtle. A turtle! And he ate, like, a fourth of what Jamie ate!

Still. Regardless. It was nice.

Jamie thought that was the only time he'd seen Jack eat, but he didn't really care about those things, so he wasn't sure.

He remembered him not eating a bunch, and remembered North getting frustrated with him about in, near the beginning of the program.

Jack had been waiting for Jamie to get back from getting his food when North had approached him.

"Jack! Why do you not eat?"

"I'm not really a lunch person, North."

"Or a dinner person? Jack, you must eat. Get big. Strong."

"I do eat, North. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"But you are so skinny!"

"Not that skinny. And I've got a fast metabolism."

Jamie shows up at the point that North was shoving up Jack's sleeves. Jamie felt uncomfortable, _before_** he had accidentally seen Jack's arms. It was awkward, and North's fingers curling around Jack's wrist seemed almost comical, and thus, he had laughed.**

Jack had let out his own laugh, that seemed more relief than joy, but he was laughing, which meant he was happy.

That was the first lie Jamie told himself about Jack Frost.

There was that little moment in the bubble, before North spoke again. "Jack. Eat peanut butter sandwich. You are working very hard. You deserve it."

Something, somewhere, was off after that. Jack's mind was frozen, playing those last lines of North's over and over again. Jamie thought that something was up, something was weird about what North had said, but Jack had joked and laughed and giggled and snorted and Jamie snickered with him and it had been fun.

Jack had mentioned Pippa and how the doctors told him that the current treatment appeared to be working really well, (apparently she hadn't been released – Jamie wasn't sure why he didn't ask, but he didn't) and they'd all forgotten about the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – which, let's face it, aren't that good or hard to forget.

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

Jamie and Jack would spend most of their time outside, in warm places, because Jack got cold easily.

Jamie wanted to say something about that, and almost did, a lot, and then he did and it went terribly and serious and whenever he wanted to do it again, he just remembered the sweater incident and didn't.

Jamie would think of Jack, and feel sad sometimes, even though he didn't really know why. He kind of guessed it was because Jack was so lonely, with only his sister and the staff at Guardian. He'd think that and know it was more but leave it at that because it was easier, and he trusted that Jack could handle whatever it was without his help.

That night, two weeks into the program, Jamie had gotten back, and he was talking with Kat and she was trying to convince him to let her meet Jack.

"It isn't fair – I loved him first! I mean, I'm the one who introduced you to his books! You should be the one to introduce him to me!"

"Yeah, but Kat, we're supposed to be working when I'm with him."

"So? You always have these crazy stories of running off and going to amusement parks, or of teepeeing Rise."

"It wasn't really teepeeing. Like Jack said, it's more of redecorating. Giving the place and nice, white, wintery change of pace."

"That's not the point Jamie!" Jamie thought this may be a fight. He didn't think he'd had one, not with her. Not a real one, anyway, where there was actual anger, burning like hot coals through snow and hurt like sunburns that don't fade.

Jamie felt proud of his mental similes right then. Narrating his life in his head had kind of been a thing he'd always done, which was why he thought writing came so naturally to him. Another thing Jamie thought was that it was funny how noticeably better his narrating had become in just two weeks.

"Look. I know you want to meet him. I don't think he'd go for it. It seems we're at what they call a standpoint."

"Standstill."

"Shut up, Kat."

"Jamie, just ask him. Please? For me?"

Jamie didn't want them to argue. That's why he was doing this. Really. Such was the lie Jamie told himself. "Alright, fine! Chill, Kat. I'll ask. Don't be upset if he says no, though."

"Jamie Bennett, you are the absolute greatest!" And that definitely had nothing to do with why he'd agreed so easily.

Jack had been unsurprisingly resistant to the idea, but he'd agreed in the end. He'd only argued for an hour and a half, which had to be the quickest anyone had ever gotten Jack to do something he truly didn't want to do. Possibly the only time.

Jamie felt special, and thought it was him, and didn't even know how true and how much of a lie that was simultaneously.

...

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

**WikiHow: Creating a Budget**

_Step 1: Balance. A budget is all about balancing sums between your income and your outcome._

_· The final result of your budget should be zero or above. Or, in other words, the amount of earn should be equal to or greater than the money that you spend._

_· Once you've determined a balance, you have a workable budget._

_· If you're budget doesn't work itself you evenly, you will have to look back over the entire sheet (it helps to keep a list of everywhere you're getting and spending money) and figure out how to balance it._

_Step 2: Removing unnecessary expenses. Often times, when a budget is unbalanced, it means that there are some unnecessary expenses that you can stop paying for._

_· Make a list of everything you end up paying for. Start with the most important things (such as: food, electricity, house, ect.) and underline them. These are the things you cannot survive without._

_· Double underline those things that are important, but, if forced, you could survive without for a measure of time._

_· Finally, circle the things you don't need or use daily but enjoy. The things you don't want to live without._

_· Look back over you lists, and start getting rid of expenses, starting with the ones that aren't marked, and then moving up through the circles and then double lines until your budget is balanced. Try not to eliminate any of the items with one line underneath. If you have to do that, you might want to find another source of income._

* * *

><p>North looks up from the paper. "This is going to be lot of work, yes?"<p>

The empty room glares judgmentally at him and agrees. North doesn't sigh, but it's a close thing. Large hands reach, surprisingly gentle, for the half-moon spectacles and he slips them over his eyes and turns his attention once again to Guardian's admittedly very lopsided budget.

It wasn't like they didn't have a budget. It was more that North was apparently very bad at creating budgets, and had ended up creating a new budget each night. He felt that doing this slightly defeated the point of creating a budget.

North was getting annoyed with budgets and had resorted to using WikiHow. This was, he acknowledged, quite the blow to his honor. The reverse, of course, was that continued attempts at budgeting were quite the blow to his sleeping. After almost two weeks of sleep deprivation, North was willing to look elsewhere for more permanent budget.

It had, of course, nothing to do with the fact that he'd had to release his midgets and missed them.

Or that the electricity bill was starting to look like mountain.

Or his growing fear of IRS taxes.

Obviously, admitting any of that would be somewhat shameful, and everyone lied to themselves.

Thus, North was, for the sake of his comfort and sanity, learning how to build a better budget. At the very least, Tooth would be proud. Or maybe upset that he hadn't asked her, but she was incredibly busy making a case from them.

Early that day, Bunny had suggested they might want a lawyer.

It had been hours ago, and North could still hear Tooth's voice ringing in his ears. They weren't going to get a lawyer. They were not going to talk about getting a lawyer. They were not going to think about lawyers period.

Jack had glared at all of them and had followed after her when she fled.

Tooth had made it about half way down the block when Jack caught up with her.

"Toothiana?"

She stopped, mumbling something, but didn't turn around.

"What?" Jack leans casually up against the building, in order to properly smirk at Tooth, frazzled and tense in the middle of the sidewalk.

"You look like you should have a staff or something right now."

Jack grins wolfishly. "Alright, Tooth. What was up there?"

"It's just the pressure. It seems like this entire place, this place we've worked so hard for, is crashing down around us. You don't understand, Jack. I love children. I got this job, because I wanted to help children. And … and I never really got to be one. And now that's being taken away from me."

"We can fight this, remember, Toothie –"

"But that's just it Jack! What if we can't? What if we don't? What if Pitch wins?"

"What if you die in a car crash, tomorrow? What if aliens attack, because they've done all the abductions they want to and mutilated all the cows they never wanted to?"

Tooth starts to smile a bit. "Don't you mean mutilated all the cows they wanted to?"

Jack looks at her like she's completely lost it. "No." He says, slowly and incredulously. "Why would _anyone_ want to mutilate a _cow_?"

Tooth's really giggling now. "They're aliens. Who knows how they think?"

"Exactly. Now, tell me what's really wrong."

The smile drops into a scrunched up frown. "Jack Frost, you brilliant, skinny boy." She catches a weird look on Jack's face when she says that, but it's gone and she looks away and continues. "It's nothing. Really."

"You know, I can't actually recall when I last heard something less convincing."

Their eyes lock fiercely and quietly, but the silence seems to yell with secrets and layers and all the words they'd been choking back since they met. It seems to vanish, however, plaintive cries unheard, into a roar. Blood, Jack is sure, is rushing to his face.

Tooth breaks first with a sigh. "It's … Sandy. He has cancer."

Jack starts, genuine shock flitting across his face. "Sandy?" He can't quite explain why he's so horrified, other than that he's gotten used to the little guy, with his note cards, bobbing around everywhere in that ridiculous shade of yellow that actually matched his hair.

He can't explain it, because that would mean that he's gotten attached, and getting attached only takes him further and further from the self-destructive, independent (alone) street kid he's always only ever been.

Friends, attachments, make him something else, make him want to be something else.

Something that can eat dinner without breaking down, something who can go into a donut shop and buy a donut without throwing up later, something that didn't have to laugh so as not to cry, something that fell in love, something that did stupid things for not because he didn't have any other reason to live, but because he did.

But Jack's got Pip, and that was the start of everything. It wasn't a girl struggling in a hospital from a bad beating, like he told himself. It wasn't going to be better in week, or an hour, or anytime soon, like the doctors like to tell him.

It was a pale, wild eyed and shaky girl screaming when the nightmares came. It was his older sister unable to progress past childhood. It was the reason they'd been abandoned – and that messed Jack up more than he'd ever admit – on the street.

The truth was a lonely little girl, locked up in New York's finest mental asylum too late, because Jack hadn't ever had money until now.

The truth was that nothing Jack wrote could ever come close to what his sister saw.

The truth was that sometimes she was so lost in her world she couldn't see him, or hear him but sometimes she was so doped up on medications and she couldn't recognize him then either.

The truth was that Pippa was crazy, and Jack knew he was too.

Jack doesn't much like the truth and this is why: the truth left Pippa alone.

The more people Jack had who cared, and the more he cared about, the more people who he wanted to fight _his_ crazy for.

But the worst truth was that if he did that, if he wasn't crazy anymore, Pippa would be all alone.

And that's something Jack couldn't ever do.

Jack hated the truth, because all it told him was that he couldn't be loved and he'd always be broken.

"Jack? Jack? Jack?! Oh, my, God. Oh, oh. Breath. Okay, one, two, three. Breaths. In and out. You can do it. Just lean against the wall –" It is Tooth's voice that pulls him back to reality.

"Aw, Toothie. Think you're having a bit more trouble than me," and Jack can even summon up a tired smile and a light titter. (It takes him more effort than it usually does, but he ignores that.)

Tooth gasps deep breaths of air in. She swallows. Vaguely, Jack becomes aware that he's crouching up against the wall to Guardian – and there's that little pang because the wall, right then, is the closest thing he has to Sandy and he doesn't want to care.

"I mean, really, he's fine. And when I say fine, it's not like I'm making light or lying, it's really more of a," Tooth is babbling and it's kind of cute so Jack is smirking instead of sobbing, but her voice dips, and it's different and she's sounds scared and Jack is too. "It's definitely malignant, and it's in his esophagus. Apparently, they can't get at with surgery, not without major risk."

Tooth's speaking in a way that's not quite mechanical and not quite normal, but somewhere in between that makes her sound really, really boring. Teachers, in Jack's opinions, are the only ones who have that voice down better than Tooth.

They probably practice every night. They probably have to demonstrate their boring voice at job applications, and the only way to guarantee you've got the job is to put the interviewer to sleep.

There's a laugh bubbling up at the back of Jack's throat, and he thinks of Sandy and it turns around and wraps itself into knots.

"It's been begin for a while. But they haven't been able to risk surgery because of where it is. Sandy's starting chemo today."

Jack wishes he could laugh, but his entire body seems to be working on those knots and getting tangled up and his head is aching and his legs feel weak and he can't stop caring and "I … I have to go."

"Jack? Jack!"

Jack fled.

...

* * *

><p>...<p>

**A/N: what do you guys think about Jack's reaction/Pippa's mental illness? **

**Rose: thank you! Yes, the guardians will find out eventually but I don't want to say anymore in case of spoilers. :D Thanks to everyone who has favorited and/or reviewed this! **


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: everyone who reviewed - that you guys all so much for saying such nice things! It was so sweet and kind of you and totally made my day when i (finally) logged on. **

**Second, sorry for taking forever to update, my life has been insane lately (exciting news: I'm participating in TEDxyouth event! Squee! I'm crazy excited!) and also I'm not crazy about this next bit - it feels a bit like it had to happen but still doesn't get where I want it to quickly enough BUT no matter. **

**Oh! First: to clarify: Pippa is schizophrenic but Jack was lying to himself (and others) by pretending she isn't. **

**Summary: Jack makes a new friend, Pippa has a bad day with new meds, and Sandy is hospitalized.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Employee Bio<em>: Mr. Pitch E. Black**

**_Submitted by: _the IRS **

_Full name_: Pitch E. Black (NOTE: what the 'e' stands for has remained ambiguous and all askers have mysteriously vanished. Popular opinion would state that it stands for evil, were that not too black and white.

_Age_: 57

_Years Employed_: 30

_Current Position_: Head of Tax Department (NOTE: Held for the longest in recorded IRS history, almost twenty-two years)

_Race_: Unknown. (NOTE: Best guesses place him at Caucasian, though heavy white make-up that has coated his face for the entirety of his employment makes it impossible to know for sure.)

_Psyche Profile:_ Found in pieces. What remained included: anger management issues, issues connecting with other individuals, extreme desire for control – presumably deriving from a lonely - .

_(The rest has yet to be found)_

_Qualities as an IRS Employee:_ Bloodthirsty and uncaring, dangerously cunning, and inspires fear and thus productivity amongst other workers. Good at climbing corporate ladders and appears to have no higher aspirations, which is useful, if slightly pathetic –

Slightly _pathetic? Slightly? _Jack chuckled to himself loudly. He'd have to thank Nightlight – his literary contact at Man in Moon Publications by day and hacker by night – for this piece of comedy gold.

Pitch was far more than slightly pathetic.

It was like one of those scales. There was pathetic and then, miles away, there was Pitch. He was quite probably psychotic as well.

Honestly. Who taxes and sues a nonprofit organization from Canada that helps children? That's just something normal, well-adjusted, happy people don't do.

Normal, well-adjusted people do normal, well-adjusted shit. Like getting boring jobs and forgetting anniversaries and getting fired and going to Saturday dinners.

Normal, well-adjusted people were not, by any stretch of the imagination, Jack Frost, Nicholas North, Toothiana (weird, Jack never did learn her last name) or Bunny and none of them would have it any other way.

But there's a thick, distinct line between weird and psychotic and Pitch just about created, defined and backpacked across that line.

Jarringly, Vanilla Ice's _Ice Ice Baby_ blasts out of Jack's butt.

It usually makes Jack smile, Sandy's little joke.

Jack slips his hand backwards into his pocket, sees the caller ID and hits ignore. He slips the phone back into his pocket, and tries turning his attention back to the stack of files on the IRS and Pitch Black specifically that Nightlight had given him.

This was, Jack could venture to guess, not the most legal of activities to be doing, but he –

But –

There weren't many reasons for why Jack was still trying so hard to help Guardian, but the primary one was Jamie. Jamie, and all the other children and Sandy and the Guardian staff, and Christ on a cracker, even Bunny and okay.

Those were a lot of reasons.

One of them may have included his meeting with Kat yesterday.

She'd said, the second she saw him, "Jesus Christ on a cracker," and then she'd said it several hundred more times after that. Now, he was saying it.

Kat had hugged him, and he'd given her a cookie.

"Always nice to meet a fan," Jack teased.

Kat had flushed pink. "Oh, God."

Jack had looked at her, laughter on his lips. "I'm sitting here hopping you're not religious right now, because all you've mention so far has been God, Jesus, and crackers."

"No. No, sir. I just go to church a lot. One of my mom's is religious. We all go with her. Claude – my brother – is even an alter server."

They had talked for about ten minutes, while Jack had signed all four of the books he had out that Kat apparently owned and then she had left.

Jack had asked Jamie what to do if she collapsed. In the end, it turned out the question was unnecessary because she had fainted before Jack had even gotten the words out.

Jamie, glaring at Jack, pulled a pack of smelling salts out of his backpack. "They've for occasions like these, okay? You've got to be prepared. Plus, vampires are allergic to them."

"Put a silver stake through me if I'm wrong, but isn't that garlic?"

Jamie sniffed, affronted. "Popular lore isn't always correct lore."

Instantly, Jamie regrets saying anything, because Jack is looking at him innocently instead of mockingly.

When Jamie goes home to find his backpack full of garlic he knows that it's only the start and he was right to be concerned. You've only always got to be concerned when Jack looks innocent.

Jack shook his head and glanced down.

There was a file on him? The IRS had a file on him? What? Why?

Desperately, Jack flipped through the pages, not exactly skimming them but rifling through them nonetheless. North. Flip, flip. Guardian. Flip, Bunnymund. Flip. Flip. Rise. Flip, Sandy, Tooth. Flip. Flip, flip, flip, Jamie.

Jack remembered his previous metaphor about Pitch and lines and psychos.

Mentally, Jack revised that metaphor. Pitch Black was just a bully.

A bully, Jack decided, and an asshole, who didn't even know there was supposed to be a line.

Jack's focus on this train of thought had previously been successfully in allowing him to avoid the train of thought that said he should not have hung up on North, and he should definitely call one of them, or at least Phil.

Damn.

Just, Jack bemoaned getting up, when the roof was getting really comfortable.

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

Tooth was generally a brave person.

Tooth didn't often feel the need to interfere in other's business.

But she was the only one who knew about Sandy and she was the only one who'd seen how much it had thrown Jack.

In the end, it had come to this: despite Tooth's policy about worries and them being useless, Tooth was worried about Jack.

Her worry, also, was categorized on a list of worries. These worries were not many, and quite obvious, and were as follows: Sandy dying, Guardian falling, and Jack.

Most worries, like the worries about Guardian and Sandy, are specific. There is something bad and you don't want that to happen.

Tooth was scared because she wasn't worried about anything bad happening; she was worried about everything bad happening. She was worried about Jack not being okay, which was silly, because she knew he wasn't.

But worrying was silly and here it was and here she was, being silly.

Maybe Tooth needed some more silliness in her life – but, she hurriedly clarified to herself, not the worrying kind of silliness, but the kind of childlike silliness she'd been avoiding since … just that she'd been avoiding.

Another thing Tooth needed to stop avoiding was the Guardian staff. And, well, Bunny, but he was one of them whether he admitted it or not. It wasn't like Tooth was intending to keep secrets, or even that Tooth normally kept secrets, but there hadn't really been a good moment, not yet.

She had found out only hours ago and Tooth was completely ashamed of her behavior. It was, true, a terrifying concept.

Because Tooth didn't like germs, or sickness or rot even a little bit. It was more than that, because that thought alone was enough to terrify her, and now, it seemed like sickness was creeping into their lives.

It was nothing personal, not really, but Tooth simply couldn't bring herself to tell the others that Sandy had cancer a moment before now.

Now, Tooth screws up her courage and lifts herself up to march into Guardian, while all the children on lunch break.

When Toothiana walks through the door, she is self-aware and it feels like her skin, previously belonging to someone else, is being readjusted to fit her. Yet, nobody else gives her more than a precursory glance. Such is the way with people; everyone too focused on thinking other people are focused on them to notice that other people are too focused on themselves and being focused on to bother.

"North." Tooth walks towards the large Russian, placing a hand casually on his shoulder. "Get Bunnymund, please."

"Be back soon, Tooth!" The New York branch of Rise was only a couple blocks away.

Tooth knows that Jack isn't really a staffer and more of an independent contractor North had hired, but it still feels like he is and he should be there with them, visiting Sandy. Because of course that's what they're going to end up doing.

Without warning, the electricity flickers.

Guiltily, Tooth remembers the letter from the electric company she'd shoved at the bottom of her mail pile and never actually read. Probably wasn't going to do that one again.

"Children! Kids! Um." Tooth started badly. "We forgot to mention this morning that … today is a half day only!" That was dumb. God, that was incredibly dumb. How were the parents going to be able to come get them? How were they going to react?

"Cool!" "Awesome!" A multitude of kids seemed fairly happy about this, but there was nowhere for them actually to go, and Tooth was not irresponsible enough to take the muni with them.

"First," where were North and Bunny? "you guys can celebrate. With ice cream. At the store … somewhere. We'll walk. Wait. No, that'll give you cavities. Ice cream isn't healthy. We aren't going to get ice cream. Too much sugar. But we are going to go for a walk. I think? Exercise is good, yeah? That'll cancel out the tooth-rotting ice cream. It should. We are going to get ice cream! Just brush your teeth really well tonight, promise?"

It was thirty kids, right? How hard could thirty creative kids on sugar be?

Yeah, right. Tooth was screwed and she knew it.

Semi-desperately, she called Jack. It reached two rings before cutting off abruptly. Tooth didn't bother with a voice message.

"Text North," Tooth spoke quickly at her phone. After the ping, she continued. "Electricity going down. Told kids it was a half day. Currently taking them to ice cream … somewhere. Please help."

Her phone whooshed. "Minion." Tooth spared a quick smile while gesturing the children to her. "look up ice cream shops around Guardian. Text the closest one to North. Direct me."

"Seven detected. Closest one, eight blocks. Name: Ye Old Ice Cream Shoppe. Yelp reviews: positive. Turn left. Now."

"Alright, everybody! Turn left!" Several kids turned right, but most just kept going. "No! Wait! Turn in a direction! Don't turn, actually. Stop! Please! Freeze! No more movement! Okay, and now, follow me." Reasonably, Tooth did a brief headcount of the kids after that.

"Continue straight for seven blocks."

"And keep walking straight children, for a couple of blocks." Quieter, "Thanks, phone-minion."

"No problem, Tooth!"

Tooth thought her phone was kind of obnoxious most times, and kind of cute others. Now, it was pretty obnoxious. "One more thing. Record message: This is an automated message from Guardian. We regret to inform you that due to staffing issues, today is going to be a half day. Please, come collect your children by one this afternoon, forty-five minutes from now. Should you not be able to at this pickup time, give us your address and we will drop your kids by your house. Questions, complaints and comments? Please contact Nicholas North at: (212) 883 7234. Have a lovely day!"

Tooth paused for breath. "Stop recording. Send that to everyone in my "2013 Parents and staff" folder, Bunny, Jack and North. Send recorded message and text. Shut yourself off when you're done. Don't talk to me."

Her phone, after several whooshes and beeps and dongs, shuts itself off.

God.

Has Tooth mentioned she loves her phone?

There was silence, before Tooth was turning briskly back to the children. "Step lively, now. We're almost there! And you guys are in luck, because I happen to know where we can get us some quality tooth brushes to use tonight!" Tooth didn't really think that 'step lively' was a thing people said anymore, but she had always liked the phrase and thought it should make a comeback. And she was delighted to see the Safeway across the street.

Dental care was very important, after all.

...

* * *

><p>…<p>

By the time North and Bunny are able to catch up to Tooth and the children, the ice cream is away and Tooth is handing out colored toothbrushes that she'd had her phone have an assistant run out and get.

"Now, ice cream isn't very good for your teeth – all that sugar, you know – so please, remember to brush and don't forget to floss, children! Oh, and look! North and Bunny are here to take you back to Guardian where your parents will be waiting. Well, most likely be waiting. I hope their waiting. We can drop you off if they aren't waiting."

Rapidly moving amongst the children, Tooth begins to lead them back. North, curious, but tactful enough to wait, marches along behind.

Bunnymund simply glares. "The audacity!" He proclaims, looking for somewhere to nail his indignation. "Ya dipstick!" He, after little thought, decides on insults. "What the bloody hell am I doing 'ere?" Buuny finally gets out, dropping the whole indignation thing, mostly because no one seems to be caring.

"Is good. Do not worry. Tooth will tell us soon." North, only half listening, tells Bunny sagely.

Grumbling, Bunny's complaints subside temporarily.

He's aware, he knows, that North doesn't think much of Rise. But not everyone can be a writer, and you needed illustrators and animators for children's movies and books, and Bunny felt like North just didn't understand that.

North had never really understood that, always brushed aside and forgot the illustrators. Not cruelly, or harshly, but with the preoccupied air of somebody with more important things on their mind.

North _always_ had more important things on his mind.

So preoccupied with his thoughts, Bunnymund almost completely failed to notice when they arrived, which, he very well knew, was incredibly unlike him.

Personally, Bunnymund was all for blaming North.

In general, Bunnymund was frequently up to blaming North for most things, if he wasn't too busy blaming Jack.

Tooth flitted over to them nervously. "Have any of you guys seen Jack?"

"Last I see him, he is chasing you. I called him to ask about you, but it went to voicemail. Why? Does Jack need our help?"

"Bloody irresponsible thing. Probably off having a fit somewhere. Now, what was it you needed us for, Tooth?"

Somewhat abruptly, Tooth ducked her head next to theirs. "Shh. Not yet. Wait 'till the children leave. Do you guys have any floss on you? I'm worried about their teeth."

"Their what?" Bunny asks.

"Teeth. We got ice cream."

"Ace idea! Their happy, you're happy, and you don't have to deal with the miserable parents!"

Tooth moves to leave and then turns back towards Bunny. "No! Bunny, I do not want to leave the parents miserable! Oh, they do so much already! And I think, oh I know," Tooth wailed, "I've ruined their teeth for life! They'll have cavities and just think – just think! – of the denture bills!"

Bunny looks at her, exasperated. "Let's get one thing square between us: there's such a thing as too many explanation points."

"What? No! No such thing! And Tooth, you don't worry! You did right thing. I feel it. In my belly!" North demonstratively rubs his belly.

"Look, mate. I'm goin' ta knock explanation points, because they, exclamation points, scream at me to be criticized and on top of that, they are largely unnecessary. North, you're goin' ta defend them, because you're far too much of a fruit loop. I'm not. I'm a knocker. What can I say? Oh, right. Piss off."

"Bunny!" Both Tooth and North seem a little gob smacked at his attitude.

Bunnymund supposes it's a little called for, and elaborates. "I'm tired. No. I'm bloody exhausted. Ya think Guardian is doin' alright, yeah? Well, Rise isn't. Rise is flouderin' and I'm too busy thinkin' a ways ta fix it than ta bother with babyin' you two. So, why dontcha just tell us what's up Tooth, so we can get the hell back to savin' our own damn hides?"

Tooth pulls her head comically away for a second, looking around at all the gathered children and confused and annoyed looking parents. "Not around the children!" she hisses.

Bunnymund desperately wants to mention the explanation points – really, the world would be better off with less of those in general – but bites it back. Things are tense enough. Bunnymund doesn't want to add fuel to the raging forest fire.

Instead, Bunnymund – oh, for the love of, fuck it all – _Bunny_ glances around somewhat bored and settles into think about North some more.

North, while attempting to watch the children, keeps wondering what it is that's making Bunny glare so fiercely at him.

North thinks it must be Frost. The two never did get along.

...

..

.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**..**

**...**

**Dictionary: Secrets**

_Designed to avoid detection; hidden_

_Kept from knowledge; unacknowledged_

_Something divulged to few or shared only among workers within the same craft; trade secret_

**Synonyms**_: confidence, enigma, mystery, key, puzzle, strategy, covert, underhand, sneaky, off the books, cloistered, hidden, hushed, intimate, private, concealed, silenced, suppressed, unsaid, clandestine._

**Antonyms**: _common, open, told, shared, obvious, overt_.

Guiltily, Tooth looked up from her mobile phone.

Tooth could have said: "Sandy has cancer." She could have broken down crying, and told them that Sandy was dying.

She could have been even more tactless, and yelled it out in front of all the children.

What Tooth did was probably worse than any of that, because despite the horror and the awfulness of any of those statements alone, at least they were forewarned.

At least they'd been prepared, albeit badly, in those scenarios.

Instead, Tooth had, after all the kids were safe at home, solemnly driven them to the hospital. For Tooth, being grave and serious was such rarity that North and Bunny had dared not ask what was up, only thinking and imagining the worst.

When they got to Sandy's bedside, it made sense why.

Sometimes, there wasn't anything to say, because life just happened anyways, no matter how much of it you talked about it happening or why it had happened.

Sometimes.

Once, in a blue bloody moon, you didn't have to speak, because life did it for you.

Those involved call it a tragedy, those watching call it entertainment and the rest don't even know it happened, don't even know life spoke.

And you could say life moves on, but it never really stopped, it rolled through, grabbed a coffee and left without paying as it breezed out the door.

Because if there is anything life really, genuinely needs, it's caffeine.

...

* * *

><p>…<p>

Jack stayed up on the roof for another half hour. Everyone needed to be selfish about something, and right now, Jack was going to hide from the real world in a really high place for a little bit longer.

Eventually, Jack slid, hopped and swung off the roof before it occurred to him that he wasn't technically aware of what hospital Sandy was being kept at. Unfortunately for Jack, but not for, you know, the dying sick people, Jack thought wryly, they were in New York City.

There would never be only one hospital in New York City. There would always be dozens, and Jack didn't have time for dozens.

Despondently dragging his proverbial feet, Jack stares unseeing at his phone for several minutes before realizing that he'd already received a voicemail from Tooth.

It was some desperate thing about staffing issues and clearly addressed to parents.

Jack remembered forgetting about Jamie after he'd fled from Tooth. But, it appeared he wasn't even needed. Jack doesn't much care at the moment about that.

He punches in Tooth's number, and then changes his mind.

Slips the phone in his pocket, and walks away. Pip lives, as much as one can live in a mental asylum, far enough away for Jack to walk there and still be early for their nightly meeting. Taking a step, Jack feels slightly dizzy.

Maybe it would be better if he just stayed here and didn't move again, ever? Because, really, he still had that pounding headache – he'd had it all day and it still felt like North's Russians were trying to remodel his skull.

The only good part of the headache was that it drove out the hunger.

But as much as Jack just wanted to sit here and sleep, Jack owed Pippa. Jack had to go visit her. Jack was going to go visit her. Jack should probably talk to Phil, but every part of Jack, except that small, little childish part still waiting for dead mummy to make it okay rebelled against telling anyone.

His second step felt less dizzy. He'll be fine.

His third step didn't, and Jack finally caved and bought an apple. See? He doesn't need help.

Personally, he thinks it's a little silly the way he feels right now, because Jack's eaten far more in the two weeks he has been working with Jamie than he ever had before. There's a line, between sane and crazy and Jack's trying to toe it more than he ever had before.

In the end, though, sane is not crazy and crazy can't ever be sane and Jack'll always choose Pippa.

He called a cab, and ate the apple painstakingly slowly, watching the clock tick down outside the hospital, waiting for 5:00.

An incorrect assumption of this behavior, oft made by North whenever he could get the kid to eat around him, was that Jack ate the way he ate because of his experiences on the street.

Correctly, they assumed it was because he was always starving and had to make the food last, but that was all anyone ever saw and all anyone ever did about it was attach it to the past.

Eating disorders make people uncomfortable; they're misunderstood and far too easy to hide, but none of that matters because Jack is fine.

Jack is in control, at the very least. He's crazy for Pippa, but besides that, for everyone else, he's fine. He thinks he might have an eating disorder, but he wouldn't quite call it that. He doesn't eat for a reason: Pippa. He could, if he needed to, but Pippa is more important.

Jack's got the power. He's absolutely okay.

He'll always be fine.

He's Jack Frost. And when is Jack Frost not fine?

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

When Jack finally got to visit Pippa, she didn't see him. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was slouched across the bed sobbing.

The doctors told him that they were starting her on a new medication today.

"Take her off! Can't you tell that it's not working? How is that even remotely helpful?"

The tall, African-American man spoke softly to Jack. "It is too early to tell what effect, if any, the new meds are taking on her. We shall know for sure later. I assure you, we are doing our best. But, I do not think your sister has much time left."

That froze Jack. "Wha- what do you mean, 'not much time'? She's in her twenties! How can late twenties be running out of time?"

"It all depends. It is a very complicated situation."

"Yeah? Well, if you don't explain this to me right now, explain what you are doing to my sister and why I'm paying you to not help her, you're going to have another really complicated situation on your hands."

"Jack." The doctor looks pained. He reaches out and places a hand on Jack's back. "You're sister's situation is complicated because it's fairly unique."

Jack's gut twists. His hands start shaking a little bit and he clenches his jaw. "The medication you just gave her though, that's going to work right?"

The doctors lip twist a tad sardonically at the complete 180 in Jack's opinion of Pippa's medications. "Not to kill your hope, but nothing has so far. She's been getting progressively worse – we've had to sedate her a few time – and I only really see her happy when you're here. She's … not taking care of her body, she's throwing herself into wall, and she's depressed. In the end, that's what can kill most psyche patients. Attitude."

"But she's going to be okay?"

"Probably not. I'm sorry Jack Frost. Visiting hours are over." There's a randomly loud bang.

And the doctor whose name Jack never learned in hundreds of visits, gives him a slight nudge to the exit.

Numbly, thinking all the wrong things and twisting everything up in his mind, Jack walks towards the exit.

Nurse Something glares at Doctor Something Else and follows, at a light jog, after Jack's retreating figure.

Jack, due to an innate gracefulness – Pippa always used to tease him and say that he was going to get them rich in the ballet – and despite his numbness, seems to float down the steps.

He only stumbles once, when he reaches the bottom before dully acknowledging that there are no more steps.

"Wait! Wait!" A slightly breathless, vaguely plump, and very voluptuous young nurse grabs his shoulder. She's got short hair dyed multiple colors and eerily familiar eye make-up.

"Jack? Jack Frost?" The young woman blushes and giggles. She ducks her head bashfully and impulsively sticks out her hand. "I mean, I'm Avery."

There's a beat.

Jack turns with a wide, half smile on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his head. "Is this the part where I ask you how you're doing? Because you've already done the introductions for both of us so I'm a little lost here."

Avery smiles again, albeit shyly. "Sorry about that! But, it's just, you're Jack Frost."

Jack makes a sort of what-can-you-say gesture. "And you're Avery …"

"Toothiana's sister. I mean, technically, foster sister, but family's more than blood, am I right? I'm right. I mean, that tends to be –"

"Basically, you're like … like a baby Tooth!"

"Yes. No. Sort of. That's one way of putting it."

"The more you talk, Babytooth, the more I see the resemblance."

"Oh. We're not … actually, you know, genetically related or anything. We're foster sis … but I already said that, and maybe you don't even care – you probably don't even care – and Tooth would absolutely kill me and –"

Doctor Something pokes his head out the door to yell at Babytooth. "Gods sake, bird –"

"It's Avery!" Babytooth yells back at the strict Doctor Something.

"Isn't that a type of bird?" He calls back.

"No, sir, it is not! Now sir, what did you want?" Avery, still screaming, cringes and throws in one more "Sir!" to make it more professional.

"Get back to work." The doctor's silhouette fades as the hospital backdoor closes.

"Yes sir!" Tooth leans towards where the doctor used to be, standing on her tiptoes. "I mean, in a minute sir!"

She doesn't get a response from Doctor Bossy –Stick –Up-His-Ass, but she does get one from Jack, which is far better and much more fun.

"It doesn't actually help, y'know."

"What?"

"Standing on your toes. Babytooth, you are short. This is an unfortunate life fact that you are definitely going to have to live with, but the first part on the hard, long, but not tall, never tall," Jack's barely holding back a smirk now, "journey of life is to accept that.

"We haven't known each other long, but I'm there for you. Now, repeat after me: I am a short person. Pretending to be tall doesn't help. Neither do heals and tipytoes."

"Jack Frost! You most certainly exactly how my sister – fo – never mind, I don't care – described you!"

"Devilishly handsome? Impishly charming? Perfection on ice?"

Babytooth is giggling at this point. "On ice? Why on ice?"

"Things always seem better on ice. And not for the reason you think. I mean, before you're on the ice, you think you've got problems. Then you're on ice, and you know you've got problems. Like, if you're in one of those Disney things on ice, you're on ice problem is that you are about to be part of an on ice Disney production. And that's far worse than any other problem you could possibly have."

"What's so bad –"

"You've just officially lost you're dignity. Plus, you could also be on a frozen lake, but then it cracks. I mean, sure, you had problems before, but now you're dead. Poof! No problems! And things instantly seem better."

Babytooth frowns at that, but before she can speak, Jack does, with a laugh. "No, no. They'll be no psychoanalyzing me tonight, little miss Babytooth the bird." Babytooth opens her mouth again. "And," Jack throws in an incentive, "I won't mention the inappropriate crush you've got on Doctor Uptight."

"He's not that up – and crush? Crush is such a … weak word. Am I right? No need to ask. I know I am."

"Sure you're not related to Tooth?" _And how – why – did you trust me not to tell your boss you're in love with him_. Jack doesn't ask that, but Babytooth reads it off his face nonetheless.

"Easy. He hates you. You can tell him whatever, but he won't believe you. Hell, he'd hardly hear you, he'd be too busy hating you."

"He hates me? You can do better. Move on, Babytooth. Now is the time!"

Babytooth laughs. "What about you? Got anyone special in your life?"

"That was fast."

Babytooth lightly punches his arm. "Shut up. I'm not hitting on you."

"That was crushing. Really. I'm crushed."

Doctor Something interrupts them again. "Bird!"

"Sir?"

"Why aren't you working?"

"I will be right now sir! Er, in a minute, in reality sir. Er, another minute that is. But in the mystical wish-land, I'll be working yesterday. Sir!"

"Good." Slam.

Babytooth turns towards Jack. "Um, sorry. I've got to go. And, your number?" Jack scrawls something down on Babytooth's professional shrink scrawling pad. "Text me. I don't do calls. And I'm sorry about your sister."

"It's cool. She's going to pull through. Just a rough patch, yeah?" Jack smiles a patchwork smile and turns to leave.

Jack's taken a few steps when he hears a dull thud, right before Babytooth's high pitched, "Heads!"

Jack turns around and looks at the ground. He sees a stick. "It's a stick." Jack raises an eyebrow.

"It's a magical stick."

Jack puts his left eyebrow back down and raises his right.

"Okay. You're right. It's not magical. But it's mine – it's from when I ran away from home. I've stopped running, and I know you said no psychoanalyzing, but I don't think you have."

There was a silence after that.

"Thanks. I've always wanted a stick. How could you know?" It's not like he'd recently been looking for a good walking stick with Jamie and then telling Tooth about it so that Tooth could accidently slip it in during a long overdue conversation with her foster sister because that would be creepy and borderline stalker.

"I'll throw another one at you, don't see if I won't!"

Laughing, Jack walks away. It's the first time Jack's ever walked away from Pippa's hospital laughing. He turns back.

"Oh, and Babytooth?"

"Mhm," she replied, half way through the door. "Trying to gaze lovestruck at my boss, if you don't mind."

"… Thanks."

…

* * *

><p>...<p>

Jack went to see Sandy after that. It was only six-thirty, after all, and Jack really only came to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't there." And then: "Wish I could have done something."

Sandy doesn't have his paper and pencil and can't reply. Instead, he smiles in a way that is too understanding and sad.

Jack leaves, after that.

**a/n: (again) I really love the feedback, so really - thanks again for that! Um, in terms of pairings, I've decided to keep it pretty much gen with maybe some subtext that you can/can't read into if you want to or not ... eventually, everyone is going to find out and I've been putting a lot of thought into how everyone is going to react so that will happeninging ... soonish? in a couple of chapters I think I'll be there. **

**Hope everyone is enjoying this December! It's probably my favorite month (either this or November) because I love love love the rain/snow. :D**


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